When Comes the Dawn
by BlueRiverSteel
Summary: A defender of travelers and minor healer renders assistance to a pair of dwarves crossing the River Lune into the Shire. All in a day's work for her, but neither she nor they realize it is the start of an incredible journey that will lead her to what she has always sought. Eventual Kili/OC, but it'll take a while to get there.
1. Chapter 1

Crouching in the trees, practically invisible in the shadow of night, the woman studied the creatures around the crude campfire. There were eleven of them, and she could see some crates with the seal of Bree stamped on the sides. So this group was looting, then. Doubtless they'd come across some hapless travelers—merchants, perhaps—and stolen their goods after likely killing them all. Her eyes narrowed. They didn't usually come this far south, so the merchants should have been able to travel in peace. Well, no matter; she would see to it that they stole from no one else on this road.

The largest one snarled something in their harsh language, words she did not understand and had little desire to, but their meaning became clear when the orcs busied themselves breaking down their camp. A general dislike of light in general, while not making orcs solely nocturnal creatures, did mean they preferred traveling and hunting in the darkness. It was fitting, she supposed, that creatures of evil should prefer the night. She herself was decidedly _not_ a creature of evil, though she often hunted at night, as well, due to the nature of her quarry.

Said quarry was currently being barked at by their leader (probably to hurry up), when the first arrow sailed into camp and straight through the speaker's temple. The others gaped for only a second, but it was enough time for another arrow to pierce the chest of the orc beside him. Squealing, they ran for their weapons (or drew them if they were wearing them), grouping together in a huddle and studying the trees, facing the direction the arrows had come from. One of the archers, eyes wide, fired in that general direction, obviously hoping to draw out their attacker.

Focused on the shadowy point where the orc's arrow had penetrated the tree line, the small group failed to notice the creeping shadow that approached from behind. Silently, the throats of the two in the back of the group were slit deeply, and the culprit was gone before the rest of the group could turn. The remaining seven had only just realized their companions were dead when two more arrows hissed out of the darkness, this time on the group's left flank, felling one and mortally wounding another. Taking no regard for their fallen comrades, the last orcs standing fell into a complete panic, running in all directions, swinging weapons and throwing rocks blindly. With a grim smile, the woman picked off the frightened creatures with her throwing daggers, then strode out of the trees to collect her weapons.

The wounded orc, unable to reach his short sword, stared with huge eyes as the figure approached him to finish its work and take back its arrow. A black cloak whirled around a surprisingly short form—his enemy was no Elf, obviously, or Man—and soft boots barely made a sound even when it wasn't trying to be quiet. Its hood obscured its face, but its eyes were visible; hard and cold, nearly black.

"What are you?" he squealed in fear, his breathing labored as the arrow's poison leeched through his veins, headed for his heart.

The eyes glinted. "Mangath," she growled, in what he recognized as a female voice, and he cowered at both the use of Black Speech and the reputation of the Phantom that orcs whispered about in fear; the ghoul that attacked from the shadows and eliminated entire parties of scouts and hunters.

His last thought was that someone really ought to do something about her, before her knife flashed in the waning firelight and he knew no more.

* * *

_She was crouching on the floor next to her bed; head in her hands and knees pulled up against her chest, biting her tongue to keep from screaming as the awful cries of her mother reached her. Something was burning, too, the acrid smell stinging her nostrils. She jerked as the sound of a punch met her ears and her mother's cries intensified: "No! Not my son! Please, not my son!" She whimpered; her baby brother was the one good thing that had come of her mother's marriage to the Chief Dwarf of their town, and she loved him deeply. But Mother had __**ordered**__ her, had used her Heart Name, she could not disobey; she had to hide, to stay out of sight._

_She heard the trample of heavy boots outside her bedroom door and scurried under the bed, shoving boxes near the sides and curling up at the very head of the bed where the shadows were deepest. The little one held her breath as the large orc ransacked her room, emptying drawers and tossing toy boxes and books around. A scream that chilled her blood distracted him; and sensing death, he wandered out to the main room of the house. The little girl crawled out behind him; Heart Name or no, she could not stay there while her mother died._

_The scene that met her as she crouched in the shadows, looking into the main room, made her heart stop and her blood run cold. Her mother lay in a widening pool of blood, run through by a cruel orc blade; her little brother—only seven years old, hardly out of nappies—squealing and struggling to reach his Ma. Her mother's husband lay dead on the other side of the room. The orc leader struck little Talos on the head, and he collapsed quietly. The girl bit her lip to keep from screaming._

"_There's no one else here," the leader croaked. "Let's move on!"_

_And they left, finally. The girl rushed out of the shadows to her brother. His little heart was still and he was not breathing. "Nadadith," she choked. She felt her heart shatter when he didn't respond with his customary toothy grin, and turned to her mother, who was panting shallowly. The little one grasped her hand. "Khagan," she murmured, shaking her gently. "Kahomhilizu, Khagan!" Her mother gave her a tiny smile and squeezed her hand weakly. "My sweet one," she wheezed. "Promise me you'll live well."_

_The girl took a shuddering breath and nodded, "I promise, Khagan. Please don't leave me…"_

"_Shhhh," her mother soothed. "Be blessed, my Deorynn. Tak natu yenet, mizim." _

_The girl felt her mother's spirit leave her body only moments later, and finally, she screamed._

* * *

Deorynn started awake, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat. She hated dreaming about her family's death, _hated_ it. The sun shone in her eyes, and she blinked at the mid-morning light, cursing quietly under her breath. She had meant to start early today, though she supposed she earned a rest the previous night; between gathering and cleaning her arrows and daggers, piling and burning the filth she'd killed, and hauling the crates to the nearest ferry (not far, thank Eru) where they'd be noticed, picked up, and returned to Bree, it had been well past midnight before the night's work was through. She had retreated further up the river bank then, to a much smaller road where travelers chose to ford the River Lune rather than pay the ferry, and fallen asleep in a small copse of trees just out of sight.

After refreshing a bit in the river, Deorynn sat down under a tree to eat and take stock of herself. One of her blades had chipped when it missed her target and instead hit a rock a few days prior—while still useful, it did need to be repaired. All her blades needed to be sharpened, though she needed a new whetstone for that. She was running low on rations, too. She considered her options: she could stay on this side of the river and do her business in Celondim or Duillond; but after her recent experience with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, she was eager to leave Ered Luin behind her. There were some quality craftsmen in Hobbiton-Bywater, which was fortuitous since she had some hides to trade as well. Also, she had a niggling desire to go see Rivendell, which would mean passing through the Shire anyway.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pair of dwarves riding down the road toward her upon shaggy mountain ponies. She did not move—they would likely not be antagonistic to a mere passing traveler—but she averted her eyes and turned slightly, hoping they would not notice a woman traveling alone on the road. They had not seen her yet, but were getting rather close enough for her to see them.

They were young, it was clear, perhaps not much older than she. The one with hair the color of sunlight caught her eye first—his blue eyes and ready smile were rather disarming. He nudged the one next to him—dark-eyed, but with a mischievous grin on his face—and they both laughed. With a painful throb, her heart reminded her that _that _was what she would have had with Talos. The blond one even looked a bit like him—not his hair color, for Talos had been dark-haired as the night—but his blue eyes shone the same color, and with the same vivacity and flair for life.

They had spotted her, and she had been staring too hard to turn away before they noticed she was definitely not a man. Fortunately, they simply waved and called "good morning!" before continuing to the river crossing. She waved back, but did not smile.

Sighing, Deorynn forced herself out of her reverie and gathered her gear. It took only a few minutes to shake out and roll her blankets, and restock her gear in her pack before hauling it over her slim shoulders. She brushed herself off and headed for the river. The traveling companions were by now in the middle of the Lune, the water barely reaching their knees on their ponies' backs. Deorynn smiled, almost wishing she had a pony to cross with—the water would reach just above her head in the middle—but she did enjoy swimming, and any gear she had that was sensitive to damp or wet was already wrapped carefully to avoid moisture. She took off her cloak and stuffed it in her pack—it would only slow her, trailing behind and getting wet and heavy.

She had only just started across when there was a sound of alarm from the front. The dark-haired one's pony had stumbled and was now panicking at the current. His companion was turned about in the saddle, looking behind him, calling his name. Deorynn could see that the young dwarf was having no luck getting control of his mount, and he was likely to get tossed in a moment. Picking up her pace, she gestured to the other dwarf to go on ahead—no need for both of them to end up in the water. He acquiesced, in that he moved his pony forward again, but he refused to stop watching.

Deorynn was about twenty feet away when it happened. The pony slipped a second time and panicked completely; dumping the dwarf and all their supplies into the river as it went under, fighting and squealing as it tried to get its footing again. It should have been easy enough for the dwarf to just push himself off the pony and stand up in the middle of the river, even if he couldn't swim; but something wasn't right. He was flailing about, seemingly dragged by the animal, and Deorynn understood with a start; his foot was caught in the stirrup.

That could end badly.

She doubled her stroke to catch up. The other dwarf was shouting in panic by now, seemingly torn between allowing her to help, and going after his partner by himself. She didn't have time to call to him, just prayed he would stay on the other bank. She didn't need _two_ dwarves to rescue. After a few more seconds, she caught the pony, who was still struggling to gain any sort of footing on the slippery rocks and against the current—not so swift at the crossing, but much swifter fifty feet downstream—and dived underwater. She grabbed the dwarf's foot—securely caught in the stirrup—and twisted. She nearly gasped river water as his other foot connected with her face, hard, and came up for air, furious.

"Stop fighting me, you fool!" she roared. "I'm trying to help you!"

He froze, probably in shock at that tone coming from a female, but she had no time to care. Diving again, she twisted his foot this way and that until it came loose. He immediately thrashed away from her, and she grabbed the pony's reins as she came up.

"All right!" she called to him. "Follow me to shore! Swim with the current, not against it!"

He gasped as he came up for air. "I can't swim well!"

"Hold onto my belt, then!"

"But you're a….a…."

"Do you _want_ to drown?!" she retorted. He shook his head, mute. "I thought not! Now grab it!"

He did as he was told, and she took a moment to calm the screaming pony, guiding it toward shore, following the current. The animal got its feet a moment later. It took several minutes before she felt stone beneath her own feet again and called to her soggy tagalong, "put your feet down!" He did, and they staggered onto the bank, the light-haired dwarf awaiting his companion anxiously. He rushed to him and threw his arms around him, checking him over for injuries.

"Are you hurt, nadad? I thought…" his brother shushed him, not allowing him to finish the sentence, hugging him roughly.

_So they are brothers, then,_ Deorynn thought vaguely as she bent over to catch her breath, noting with some surprise that there was blood dripping onto the gravel bank. It was only then she noticed the pain in her face, mostly on her cheek and forehead, but also in her nose. She reached up and touched it, feeling for the damage. It wasn't broken, thank Aulë, just bleeding; and it looked like the dwarf's boot had scraped her forehead a bit as well. Wiping her fingers on her leggings, she fumbled for a scrap of cloth to stem the flow of blood from her nose.

A hand entered her vision, holding a gray cloth that would work perfectly, and she took it before looking up. Her green eyes met rich brown ones, over an apologetic grin, and the young dwarf helped her straighten. She was still trembling.

His brother, too, was smiling, and they bowed to her in sync. "Fíli—"stated the blond.

"—and Kíli," said the brunet, before they chorused together, "at your service."

They would have to forgive her if she neither bowed nor curtseyed after the manner of dwarves at the moment, as the nosebleed was making her slightly dizzy, but she did manage a short nod and a small smile for them. They really did seem decent lads, and also quite handsome.

Though she kicked herself for thinking it.

The younger looked troubled as she swayed. "I am so very sorry for kicking you," he said, truly looking quite regretful for it. "I didn't realize at first what was happening. Please, let us do something to help you."

Deorynn's smile warmed, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Doe deed for dat," she said, forgetting for a moment the rag, eyes widening as she realized how silly she sounded. She barely repressed the urge to laugh, but she couldn't help it when she saw the twinkle of mirth in Fíli's eyes, too. She chuckled at herself, as did Fíli, but Kíli still looked torn between guilt and concern. She turned away from them. "Wod bobent, please."

Pulling the blood-stained rag away from her face, she wiggled her nose and wiped off any excess blood before turning around.

"As I was saying," she said, still smiling. "There is no need for you both to do anything more; just promise me you'll be safe on the road."

Kíli looked relieved that she seemed fine, but he still wasn't letting her go with just that. "Please, I insist, at least take some salve for your forehead." He dug in his pack and pulled out a clay jar, wet on the outside, but tightly sealed. "It's witch hazel, should help with the pain and speed the healing process." She took the jar gratefully and applied some of the rich cream to her forehead and cheek. Smiling, she returned the container, gave the young men a dwarfish curtsey, and turned to go.

They both shouted, and she turned round once more, sporting a cheeky grin. "Wait!" Fíli called. "We don't even know your name!"

"You have no need of my name," she stated, though her smile made the words gentle rather than harsh. "You are both safe. That is what matters."

And she was gone, leaving the brothers standing speechless on the riverbank.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first Hobbit story! :) I'm not very long-winded, but thanks for tuning in, and I hope you enjoy this!

_***Nadadith—Little Brother**_

_***Khagan—Mama**_

_***Kahomhilizu, Khagan!—Please, mama!**_

_***Tak natu yenet, mizim—Until next we meet, my sweetheart.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: I don't claim Dis. Geddit? Ha ha ha ha. Ahem. I own nothing.

* * *

Fíli and Kíli spent a good portion of the rest of the morning speculating about Kíli's mysterious rescuer. It made Fíli uncomfortable that she had not even left them with a name. It seemed suspicious to him; but he could not argue with Kíli's assertion that whoever she was, she was brave, at the very least. Unfortunately, courage was, intrinsically, neither a good or evil trait—those with malicious intent could still be brave. Therefore, he kept a close eye out for the rest of the day, even though they were now in the Shire and, frankly, relatively safe. He had heard of bandits doing travelers a kindness before turning on them; and though Kíli scoffed at that, Fíli was not the eldest for nothing.

"She was quite pretty, though, yes?" Kíli winked at his brother.

Fíli laughed. "And out comes the _real_ reason you don't find her suspicious," he teased, ruffling his brother's hair.

Kíli did an excellent job of pretending to be offended. "Are you implying, brother mine, that I would lower my defenses to just any pretty maiden?" He scowled.

"Perhaps not _any_ pretty maiden," Fíli granted, "but certainly that one!"

Kíli muttered, "well, she _did_ save my life."

He was teasing, but Fíli had to admit some truth, to both his brother's assertion of her beauty, and his sense of duty to her. She was no dwarf, that much was clear (no facial hair, and she was slightly taller than the average dwarf); but he supposed by some standards, her bright green eyes and sandy-brown locks would be considered attractive. Honestly, he didn't remember that much about what she looked like; he'd been too relieved to have Kíli back in one piece. One still-breathing piece. Hence, the sense of debt: he didn't know what he'd have done if Kíli hadn't made it to the river bank. As much as he hated the idea, he doubted he'd have been much help saving his brother, as he was actually _worse_ at swimming than Kíli was. Doubtless, she had preserved his brother for him, and Fíli was indebted to her for it, whatever her reasons.

They stopped to lunch at the Green Dragon in Hobbiton—they weren't due at the Burglar's house until later that evening, and Gandalf was to meet them sometime during the afternoon to tell them where to go—and Kíli just couldn't let the morning's adventure go.

"Do you suppose we offended her somehow?" he looked vaguely troubled. "I did kick her rather hard."

Fíli snorted. "Only you, little brother, would kick someone in the face who was trying to rescue you. But it's possible."

"I wish she hadn't run off."

The barkeep eyed the brothers sharply at this. Fíli met his gaze squarely, and, caught, he came over to ask them, "Sirs, might I ask who this 'she' is?"

Kíli glanced at Fíli as if for permission. The older dwarf considered, and then figured it probably couldn't do any harm as they didn't even have a name to work with. "A woman, she saved my brother from drowning this morning."

The barkeep nodded. "Short, curly hair, all dressed in black? Ran off without so much as a 'you're welcome' afterward? Wielded twin daggers as long as your forearm, and frighteningly well, too?"Fíli started a bit at the last portion, but Kíli was nodding. "Well, she did say 'you're welcome', and we didn't see any weapons, but then the situation hardly called for it."

At that, a couple of patrons turned to listen. A burly hobbit with muddy brown eyes piped up, "did she have rounded ears like a Man, but the height of a Dwarf?"

Fíli nodded. "You know her?"

The barkeep chuckled. "We all know _of_ her, though nobody _knows_ her. She never gives a name. She seldom even lets her face be seen, usually wearing a hood and running away so fast no one can get a good look at her. But she's something of a local legend."

A Man sitting behind them stated, "'Ardly local, Friends. She been spott'd as far east a' Rhovanion."

Kíli's eyes were wide, a sure sign that he was completely engrossed in what he was hearing. Fíli almost had to laugh at it; his brother usually reserved that look for his Uncle's or Dwalin's war stories. He had to admit he was interested too, though. "But who is she?" Kíli asked.

The barkeep spoke again. "They call her _Lelaenil_," he said in a nearly reverent tone. "'Angel of Travelers'. Many a traveling party has she saved from orcs or bandits, and that's not even to speak of the scouting camps or hunting parties of those foul creatures that have been found burned to a crisp at her hand. I even heard tell once that she destroyed an entire orc settlement, chief and all! The woman—for everyone who's seen her agrees she's a woman—is mad; but no one can argue her deeds."

"Some say they've 'eard the orcs called her 'Mangath', tho'," the man said with a fierce grin, gray eyes glinting. "Black Speech for 'ghost'. They never know it's comin' til they're dead."

"How does she do it?" Fíli inquired, wondering how one small woman could defeat so many.

"She's somethin' of a rogue," the man answered. "Sneaks up from behind, attacks 'em from afar wit' arrows and throwin' daggers, under cover of night prob'ly, sets traps; travelers say she's a master at disappearin' and inflictin', shall we say, less-than-chivalrous damage." He shrugged. "O' course, she's dealin' wit'them what have no honor, so I see nothin' wrong wit' her underhanded methods."

Fíli had to admit he was impressed. Though he knew how rumors could blow a thing out of proportion, so maybe the girl wasn't _all_ that they said. Still, legends had their root in fact, and he had witnessed her willingness to help strangers _himself_ not six hours ago; it was fascinating to hear someone like that existed. He had thought the roads were only patrolled by the Rangers, and loosely at that; but clearly this woman was not human, so she couldn't be one of _them_.

Kíli sat back, raising his eyebrows at his brother as the patrons went back to their meals and conversations. "Sounds like we owe a debt to a phantom, Brother." Fíli laughed and dug into his stew.

* * *

Across the room, the young woman in question smiled into her mug, unbeknownst to the inn's other occupants. Green eyes flashed in amusement at their stories—she'd certainly _never_ taken on an orc settlement, much less by herself—but the rest was mostly true. She wasn't skilled enough, nor physically strong enough, to stand alone face-to-face with the orcs and bandits she terrorized, this she knew. At least not in the numbers they traveled in. But she was light on her feet, quiet and small enough to utilize shadow and darkness to protect herself. She had good aim, and knew how to use her blades. So she played to her strengths, and did her best to inflict as much damage—and fear—on her enemies as she could.

After changing out of her all-black traveling clothes into something less distinctive—tan leggings under a rust-red tunic, leather belt and boots, and dark blue cloak over it all—and releasing her hair from the tight braids and knots she customarily wore to keep it out of her way while on the road, Deorynn had headed to the Green Dragon for food. There was no better place in Hobbiton for a decent meal, and the company was always cheerful and sometimes boisterous. Noticing the brothers there had given her a moment's fright, but she relaxed quickly. With her curls softly framing her face, a decorated band covering the scrapes high on her forehead and cosmetic paint hiding her bruised cheek, different clothes, and her weapons (most of them, anyhow) safely locked away in the chest she'd rented at the town vault for a few hours; she felt confident the young men would not recognize her even if they did happen to look her way.

Still, she was careful to sit out of their immediate field of vision. Just to be safe.

She couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as she watched the brothers. They were certainly closer than most, she could see it in how they interacted, and it made her heart glad to see them both well and happy. Not for the first time, her heart throbbed at the sense of being an outsider looking in on something precious; observing, rather than taking part in, the joy she saw.

She allowed herself a few minutes to brood on it as she accepted her roast from the serving maiden gratefully.

She had always been something of an outcast, because of her parentage, shunned if not completely rejected. As a young girl, she had done anything she could think of for acceptance; from endless kindnesses that were never returned to a hugely disproportionate ego that she used to try and bluster her way to some respect. None of it ever worked; and even her own mother, while she loved her, was acutely aware of Deorynn's differences…_shortcomings_, she called them…and pushed relentlessly to make the girl fit the mold of a normal dwarf lass. It had all wreaked havoc on her already-waning confidence until, by the time her mother married when Deorynn was nineteen summers old, she was completely silent and passive about life in general.

Looking back, Deorynn knew how bad a response that had been, to totally check out and just go through the motions of life, but it really had afforded her an opportunity to observe the world around her and learn how it worked. She discovered how people interacted with one another; learned about greed, selfishness, deceit, and jealousy; observed kindness and goodness being exploited as weaknesses; and came to the conclusion that caution was better than openness. Warring in her spirit though, caused by some quirk in the way she was wired, doubtless, was a spark of hope that refused to die and made her see the beauty and joy in the world around her; the way a child's face lit up around its parents, the way a brother would give anything for his sister, or even something as simple as a sunrise.

Then her mother had announced she was with child.

Deorynn had been thrilled; twenty years was not so large a gap between siblings, not for dwarves, and she couldn't wait to show her brother or sister everything about the world. Perhaps now she would have a companion who loved her for who _she_ was! Talos had been born in the winter of Deorynn's twenty-first year. He was a tiny baby, so helpless, and he held her heart completely from the moment she saw him. She gave of herself more freely to him than she had to anyone, _ever_; and in return, as he grew, Talos gave her his love, unconditional and absolute. He wasn't yet old enough to realize she was different, that she deserved to be scoffed and cast out, when he died. In her darker moments, Deorynn was almost grateful, for she likely would have been entirely lost if Talos had ever rejected her.

The years had taught Deorynn several things, though, not the least of which was that love and companionship were not meant for her. They were others' to enjoy, hers to protect. Over time, she had gone from merely accepting the fact, to embracing it. She found joy of her own in preserving life, reuniting families after a close call, and she even relished being on her own, able to go and do as she pleased. And mornings like this one, she glanced at the dwarves one more time, served to remind her why exactly she did what she did.

With a smile, she placed her mug and her money on the table, and slipped out. She had business to attend to, and if she hurried, she could still make Woodhall by dark.

* * *

Gandalf appeared less than an hour later and gave Fíli and Kíli directions to the Burglar's home—a Mr. Baggins of Bag-End. They did ask him if he'd heard of Lelaenil, to which he replied that he'd heard of her but never had the pleasure of meeting her. She was a fairly recent phenomenon, for in the life of a wizard, the ten years she'd been guarding the roads and patrolling the wilds was but the blink of an eye. Gandalf smiled, then left the brothers to tend to some business of his own.

Fíli and Kíli whiled away the afternoon hours by replacing any waterlogged supplies that had been destroyed (mostly perishable foodstuffs), and drying things out in a field while they relaxed in the long grass and told stories. It had been really far too long since they'd had any time to just be together, Fíli found himself thinking wistfully.

"Hey Kee," he grinned, curling up to rest on his elbows where he lay. Kíli looked at him over the blades of grass he was braiding idly. "Mmm?"

"Do you remember the time we were playing in the woods and we found that old hollowed-out tree stump that was so big we could actually sit in it?"

Kíli grinned widely. "And we called it The Halls of Kifili?"

They both laughed long and loud about that, until Fíli sobered a bit. "Yes, that's the one. Do you remember what I wrote for you and gave to you in our hallowed halls?" Lips twitching in mild amusement, Kíli nevertheless understood what Fíli was getting at. "I remember, Brother. I memorized it and have never thrown it away." Lying back, next to his brother, Kíli began to recite in a reverent, hushed voice:

_My brother, my friend, my companion, my heart._

_We walk the world together, our times overlapping;_

_Though darkness chase us and evil close in,_

_I'll never leave you, my Brother._

_We stand by one another, facing the world without hesitation;_

_Though enemies try to drive us apart and sometimes even we fight,_

_I'll never abandon you, my Friend._

_We share our joys, our sorrows, our fears;_

_Though sadness weigh us down and our fears take very real form,_

_I'll never forsake you, my Companion._

_We are one spirit in two bodies;_

_Though Melkor himself take us, through every trial life throws our way,_

_I'll never betray you, my Heart._

Tears prickled at the back of Fíli's eyes when he finished, and he was again reminded why he wrote it as his brother squeezed his forearm. "Fee, I'm no good with words like that; but you know I feel the same way, right?" Fíli sat up, Kíli following his example, and he placed a hand on either side of his brother's dark head and pulled their foreheads together. He did his best to stave off the emotional display he felt lurking in the lump in his throat, but he managed to whisper to his brother, his constant companion, his _best friend_, the other half of his soul, "Yes, Kee. I know."

They sat like that for a long moment, before Kíli opened his eyes and the corner of his mouth quirked in a way that told Fíli he was about to say something mischievous.

He did.

"Good," he stated matter-of-factly. "Because if I ever betray you, may faeries pull out all my toenails and bats make their permanent home in my hair."

Fíli burst out laughing at the old oath they used as very young children, when Kíli was terrified of the mythical faeries, and Fíli's worst fear was bats in his hair (a fear borne of a childhood adventure they seldom spoke of).

When the hour came for them to meet the others, it was with a sense of anticipation they readied the dried-out supplies. Many of the dwarves accompanying them had been friends for as long as the boys remembered, and they were quite looking forward to their grand adventure of taking back their homeland. Fíli thought sometimes that he understood what was at stake and what they were undertaking better than Kíli did; but even he couldn't deny the anticipation of the quest. He was eager to prove himself, not only to his uncle, but to the world. He knew that regardless of the outcome, this quest would be written about, sung about, talked about throughout Middle Earth for years to come.

He was determined his part in it would be an honorable one.

The trip to Bag-End was a short one, and Fíli couldn't help but marvel at how peaceful and quaint this country was. To be honest, he wondered how any being capable of making the journey they were about to make could come from here; this gentle, quiet place. He trusted Gandalf, but he was truly having a couple of doubts. Although,Kíli would tell him to keep an open mind, and he would do his best, of course. He was certain the Burglar would be a pleasant person, at least; but that didn't necessarily mean he could survive in the wild.

An idea occurred to him, and he turned to his brother. "Kíli?"

"Yes?"

"I'm worried about this Burglar. Have you noticed the kind of folk from around here are…"

"….not exactly the adventuring type?"

"Precisely."

"Yes, I've noticed. But we have to trust Gandalf—he's wiser than either of us, you know."

Fílinodded shortly, a silent agreement. "True, but…why don't you and I make a pact?"

Kíli stopped and faced his brother. "A pact?"

"Yes," Fíli nodded. "A pact to protect our burglar, especially if he's not accustomed to the wilderness."

A slow smile spread over Kíli's face; the genuine, warm one that he reserved for Fíli when he really impressed him. Slinging an arm over his older brother's shoulders, he squeezed. "Consider it done. Fee?"

"Yes?"

"I want to be just like you when I grow up."

Grinning, he knocked on the round green door.

* * *

A/N: First of all, can I just say: you all are awesome. I love you guys. Thank you for reading my wild imaginings. Secondly, the Durin family feels are absolutely slaying me lately, so I hope it's not too fluffy for you, but honestly, I couldn't resist. Third, many thanks to OrisounAsh (who's story, The Longsword and the Bow, you should go read. Seriously, go read it!) for encouraging me to give this story a shot, or else it'd still be percolating in my brain and driving me mad. Did you catch my shout-out to you, mellonin?

Thanks for reading, guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Disclaimer: If I owned anything more than my OC, I'd not be shuffling paper for a living, and that's a fact.

A/N: The review regarding Talos for the last chapter made me facepalm as I realized I'd forgotten to state outright who he was—he was Deorynn's baby brother. That mistake has been remedied in a revision to Chapter 2. Another mistake I made that I'm not as sure how to fix, so I'll just be more careful of in the future, is the travel times. Upon further research, at a steady walk, it would take 40 hours to cross the Shire, not one day. So I shall be more mindful of distances and the travel times they represent from now on.

We're moving this right along here, but I think it'll be the next chapter before Deorynn meets our favorite gaggle of dwarves and a hobbit. Bear with me, dear readers!

* * *

Deorynn crouched behind the thin pine on the rugged hill, looking down at the Great East Road. She had just reached the southeastern edge of the Chetwood, two days outside of Bree, when she'd heard a scream from the road. Caution overriding her impulsive desire to run headlong into whatever trouble awaited, she had run quietly through the thinning woods til she saw the problem. There was a broken wagon overturned on the side of the road, and a man fighting off what appeared to be bandits. His woman struggled in the arms of two of them a few feet behind him; she had been the source of the scream.

_Had they been traveling alone? _Usually couples traveling with wagons bearing goods—or less often, housewares, if they were moving—hired Guides, teams paid to keep them safe from exactly this fate. Deorynn observed for only a few more moments to ensure this was real trouble, and not some bandits staging something to rob passersby, before she rose slightly from her crouch and began to run through the long grass, using it for cover. She ran wide, circling about to approach the two men bruising the frightened, now cowering, woman from behind. She knelt in the grass about twenty feet directly at their backs, drawing two small throwing knives with a nearly inaudible rasp. Taking a deep breath to steady herself—her aim would have to be exact to avoid hitting the woman—she tucked her elbows and raised her arms, tilting her hands slightly to give the blades a bit of an angled spin; and then tossed both at once, watching as they hit their intended marks silently. Because she had aimed for the nape of their necks and not the easier target of their muscled, broad backs, both men collapsed almost without a sound. One knife had severed its victim's spine first time out, but the other had not and that man still lived, though he writhed only weakly on the ground. Their erstwhile prisoner had screeched and fallen flat on her rear, and was now scooting backwards as fast as she could to avoid whatever devilry had befallen her tormenters. Dashing from her hiding place, hood down, and now focused on the husband and remaining bandits, Deorynn grabbed her throwing knife from the neck of the dead man with one hand, bounced two feet to her left and yanked the one in the other man's neck to sever his spinal cord. It took barely three seconds, and she shouted a challenge as she let one of the knives fly again while she started toward the fray. She made it a couple of steps before she found her face in the grass and suddenly, she was spun to her back; and the previously helpless woman was atop her throwing punches.

Deorynn yanked her hands to her face, holding her other knife blade-out, and the woman yelped as it sliced into her hand with the next punch. Utilizing the momentary distraction, Deorynn thrust her hips up, throwing the woman forward and off-balance as she instinctively slammed her palms into the ground on either side of the girl's head to keep from falling. Grabbing her left wrist with one hand and her shoulder with the other, Deorynn twisted the woman off her and followed up, continuing the roll til she had her arm twisted behind her back in a hold.

In the few seconds this fight had taken place, the bandits had stopped attacking what Deorynn had assumed was the "husband", and all four men had come to observe the tussle with smirks on their faces. Spitting dirt, the woman beneath Deorynn growled, "Tarith! _Do_ something!"

Evidently Tarith was the one with matted dirty-yellow hair and nasty teeth, which showed as he grinned. Deorynn could see where this was headed, and she didn't like it one bit. She took two deep, steadying breaths, during which time Tarith and the other three men laughed heartily about the position their female comrade was in and spoke in frighteningly pleasant tones about just what they would be doing with the young dwarf in front of them before they turned her in to someone named Azog—the name rang a bell, but Deorynn was too busy to focus on it—and smirked at the thought of her fighting such a massive creature. At this point, Deorynn tuned them out, gathering her focus.

Before any of them could do anything about it, she let go of the woman and sprinted for the trees. If she could reach the trees, they'd never find her—plenty of shadows for her to hide in. They had had her nearly surrounded, but her smaller size allowed her to dodge their grabbing arms, and none of them were as fast as she at a sprint, longer legs or no.

She was nearly to the tree line when she felt a slicing pain in her upper arm. The knife whirled off in front of her, just to her left—it was a dagger, not a throwing knife, and the aim had been just enough off to prevent her being stabbed. Moments later, she was ensconced in the relative safety of the forest. To be extra certain, she didn't slow for several more minutes, making certain she'd lost the bandits before climbing a thick-trunked tree with enough leaves to hide her.

As she caught her breath, the pain in her arm flared to a blinding burn. She bit back a curse; she'd lived in the wild and survived enough encounters to know the feel of a poisoned blade when she was hit by one.

She needed to get to the inn quickly.

Rifling through her pack, she pulled out one of her creams—aloe and scarlet globe mallow to draw out the poison, rare but useful in situations like these—rubbing it into the laceration. She bit her lip and banged her head on the tree trunk to avoid screaming as it disinfected the wound, but the aloe kicked in a moment later, and she could focus on bandaging the arm.

Unfortunately, she had been running when she was hit—her heart had been beating wildly, blood moving quickly through her body—so she was afraid she may not have gotten all the poison out. If that was the case, and if the bandits used the most common snakeroot poison, she was in for it. _Fortunately_, she had only been grazed by the knife, which meant very little poison would be in her bloodstream. She would not die; but she might just wish she were dead within the next several hours.

Deorynn studied the area around her for a bit before dropping down from the tree. Taking a deep breath, determined to remain alert in spite of her haste, she pushed off the tunnel vision that threatened to make the inn the only thing she could think about. She needed to get there fast, true, but she also needed to _get_ there; and the space between her and safety was long and dangerous. She started south at a jog, figuring this pace would have her there in two hours.

She made it an hour before she felt the telltale tightening in her gut.

It had begun.

By the time she staggered into the Forsaken Inn a full three hours after the attack, she had nothing left in her stomach to vomit, she was covered in a cold sweat and her skin was as white as the flowers from which the poison had come. She barely made it to the bar, where she gasped to the innkeeper that she needed a room for the night, tossing down a few coins. She couldn't even tell what she'd given him, her brain was too fuzzy and her head was heavy and aching fit to burst. He said something to her, but it sounded garbled and faraway. She stared at him dumbly.

Blackness gathered at the edges of her vision, and she fell to the floor.

She didn't even feel the impact.

* * *

_She was standing on top of a rocky hill, overlooking a valley. She noticed a growl beside her and turned slowly to regard a massive white warg, its putrid breath rolling over her, it was so close. Upon its back sat the Pale Orc, scars standing out in sharp relief to the blue light the moon cast on his white skin._

_Azog._

_Now she remembered! She had heard the name of the Pale Orc when her mother told her of Erebor and the Sons of Durin. Azog was the one responsible for the death of King Thror, the madness of King Thrain; and King Thorin had been the one to defeat him. _

_Defeat him._

_He was defeated. Dead. Gone and doubtless a rotted carcass somewhere in the deep places._

_Then why had the bandits said they'd turn her over to him?_

_A clawing of panic stirred in her gut. The stories only said he'd been defeated, not killed. What if he was back? She thought, with a jolt of fear, about the reputation she'd been building—Mangath, the Phantom, bane of orc scouts and harasser of all things evil. Lelaenil, the Guardian of Travelers. Surely, it was no large stretch, after ten years, for such rumors to have reach Angmar or whatever foul place Azog hailed from. _

_What had she done?_

_She heard a shout of her name and tore her eyes from the horrifying creature in front of her, only to see the dwarf brothers she'd rescued nearly two weeks before waving and shouting. Her heart skipped painfully and she willed them to run away, even while wondering how they knew her name; she hadn't told them. The brunet—Kíli, his name had been, the one with mischief in his eyes—pulled a bow and began shooting at Azog and his thugs, while Fíli drew two long swords and twirled them in a practiced threatening gesture. _

_Something told her safety lay with them, if she could just get there. With hardly a backward glance at the warg or its rider, Deorynn sprinted toward the young men. _

_Or tried to sprint, anyhow. As often happens in dreams, her legs felt like lead and she could barely move. Orcs surrounded her, clawing at her with their bony gray hands, pulling her hair, bruising her skin. Azog laughed and began riding toward her, slowly, murder in his gaze. Desperate, she screamed:_

"_Kíli!"_

_Why she'd screamed for the dark one, she did not know, but it mattered very little since it got both dwarves' attentions. Shouting a challenge, they sped toward her, mowing down everything that got in their way…_

* * *

It was a full three days before Deorynn was strong enough to leave the inn. The proprietor and his wife had been inordinately kind to her, keeping her fed and warm. She didn't have much coin to spare, but she gave them what she could and then a little bit more before she left.

The Lone-lands were not nearly as safe as the Shire, or as populated as Bree-land, so the next week was slow and careful going for the solitary girl. She bore well south of the road, circling low to avoid the Midgewater Marshes—too many orcs for her to take on alone, though she did wreak havoc on several smaller parties along the way. When she was clear of the marshes, she once again turned northeast, fixing Weathertop just to her left of center. The walk to Weathertop took a week, and she skirted its southern edge, sticking closer to the Great East Road now. The enemies here were more numerous and more dangerous, and Deorynn never used a campfire or slept deeply. The days started to blur together a bit—wake, eat, walk, eat, sleep—but she could see the Trollshaws just to her left of center, and the Misty Mountains stretching out in front of her. Rivendell was at the foot of them and a day's walk north of the Road. The thought of a warm meal and soft bed spurred her on—used to living on the road she may be, but it would be false of her to say she didn't enjoy basic comforts like food and mattresses_. And baths,_ she thought wryly as she caught a whiff of herself.

But of course, getting off with a mere scratch from a poison blade was far too easy; Deorynn should have known something was coming.

She woke in the middle of the night to the sounds of warg. Snuffling, breathing hard—they'd been running, she realized as she lay perfectly still in the hollow created by the roots of a tree she'd slept in. A quick, tiny movement of her head revealed that she was surrounded by an orc pack on the hunt. They'd apparently stopped under her tree for a short rest, and didn't seem to have seen her yet, probably because the night was dark. She prayed with all her might to Aulë that they wouldn't catch her scent.

Her prayers were interrupted by the interested sniffing of a warg nose not a foot from her head. She shut her eyes tight, knowing she was caught. She was right in their midst, they'd have hardly been wargs if they didn't sense her presence. Before she quite knew what to do, the warg let out an odd bark and slimy, misshapen hands had grabbed her by both arms and yanked her up. The orcs squealed loudly in surprise and twisted delight, the sound echoing across the valley, and dragged her to their lieutenant excitedly. The disgusting excuse for a living being ordered her searched and stripped of her armor.

Hands yanked off her hooded cloak, her pack, her quiver and bow…more probing hands found her knives, stored in various seams, and threw them to the ground at her feet. She shuddered as the situation harkened back to her fever dreams. The creatures recognized her throwing knives—she made them herself, so their slight curve and the etching on the blade were familiar to the orcs—and her black attire, and gasped as they realized who they had caught. The lieutenant's eyes went wide, and then a triumphant smile spread over his marred and disfigured face.

"_Azog will be most pleased when I bring him both Thorin Oakenshield **and** Mangath," _he growled in the Black Speech. Despite her fear, Deorynn was distracted by the one word in that sentence that didn't fit all the rest:

What did King Thorin have to do with all this?

She supposed it made sense Azog would want him, but then what was the Orc doing all the way out here? Everyone knew Thorin had made his people a home in the Blue Mountains, in Ered Luin, far west of the Lone-lands.

But she had little time to consider it as the orcs finished searching her, leaving her standing before their leader in only a tunic, leggings, and boots. She shivered a little, feeling frightfully exposed. She tuned the lead orc out as he gloated and doubtless spelled her doom in dramatic and arrogant terms, in favor of counting the knives they'd found on her person: her belt of twelve small throwing knives, plus the two larger ones at her back, one under each bracer, her long daggers, and two from her boots. Twenty knives, plus her skinning knife.

She bit back a smile, even as they tied her up tightly and bound her to the back of a warg, none too gently.

They'd missed one.

* * *

Fifteen miles away, settled on a crag in the side of a rugged hill, Fíli and Kíli shared a laugh at Bilbo's expense before being shut down by their Uncle, and Kíli felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He truly hadn't meant anything by it; they were just having a bit of fun. And though the sounds had probably been orcs, they were clearly far enough away to pose very little threat. These lands were no stranger to orc scouts and small parties anyway, though very few would challenge a Company of their size and makeup.

_Still,_ he eyed his brother as Balin began to tell the story of the Battle of Azanulbizar, _Uncle is right. We need to be careful and alert. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Disclaimer: I wish I was clever enough to own this stuff. Tolkien was a friggin' genius.

A/N: I'm so excited for this chapter! I promised the Company, and guess what? The Company showed up! Also, thank you to each of you who have reviewed, followed, and favorited this! I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and hope not to disappoint! :)

Warnings: Mention of mild torture, lots of shocked dwarves, and one grumpy, frightened, overwhelmed OC.

* * *

If Deorynn had thought that having one small knife still on her person would help her at all, she'd been sorely mistaken. In fact, it had turned out to be rather more an annoyance than anything. The three-inch blade she stored in a sheath strapped to her shoulder under her tunic was not only impossible to reach while tied up, but kept digging into her shoulder and the outer edge of her collarbone. She was certain it would leave a spectacular bruise, especially with all the bouncing from the running warg.

Two days of this nonsense they'd put her through. No food, water only twice a day. Tied to the back of a warg in a sack like some sort of foodstuff (maybe to them, she was, who knew?), bounced along behind some orc's disgusting bum all hours of the day, and then there was the nighttime. The nights were worst, especially when the hunting party stopped to rest. That was when they pulled her out of the sack; they couldn't kill her outright—to deprive their Master of the honor would be an instant death sentence—but they made sure she was wholly uncomfortable. They poked and prodded her with sticks and sharp objects, used her own knives to slice into her skin while cackling madly at the sight of her blood, and took turns trying to garner a response from her—which she never did deign to provide.

All this was bearable, if annoying and painful, but the very worst part was the second night, when one of them pulled the pins from her hair and roughly unbraided it. That, in itself, was indignity enough—he may as well have undressed her and left her standing before them stark naked—but then they decided they quite liked her hair and wished to keep it for themselves. They spent the next hour passing her between them, each one ripping out a handful of the light brown strands, some using knives (the more merciful option, though she'd never tell them so) and some just pulling with their bare hands. By the time they yanked the bag back over her head, she was certain she would not be presentable to _anyone_—much _LESS_ a dwarf—for several more years. And even once her hair grew back, the humiliation of having it handled like that would doubtless stick with her, possibly forever.

That had been the night before, and her scalp still hurt, not to mention the massive headache she had incurred. She clenched her jaw inside the sack, fighting the urge to let go and cry here in the darkness. She needed to remain alert, regardless of how she felt, to be ready should a chance of escape present itself.

Suddenly, the shouts went up from an orc to Deorynn's left, echoed almost immediately by the blood-chilling warg howls. She knew that sound and what it meant without having to see anything.

The hunters had found their prey.

The next several minutes were something of a blur to her. Early on, she thought she heard a mad shout of "Come and get me! HA!" Others would tell her of the chase that ensued later, but at the time, for her, it was just more bouncing in the dark, with some additional shouting and the sound of arrows whizzing by. At one point, her warg stopped and the orc astride it quieted and sniffed; Deorynn thought perhaps he was stalking, or maybe just standing watch briefly to determine his quarry's location.

Then she heard the unmistakable rasp of a sword being drawn from the back sheath inches from her. The orc was readying to fight. A few more moments of silence followed.

Then, quite suddenly, the warg beneath her growled and jumped forward, then jerked and whined in a way that Deorynn knew from experience meant it had been hit by something—an arrow, most likely. Another whizz—definitely an arrow—followed hot on the heels of the first, and the orc squealed in pain as the world began to spin.

Deorynn hit the ground hard, the full weight of the warg's hindquarters landing on her legs. She let out a muffled cry of protest as the creature rolled once, staggering to its feet again as she heard the orc give a war cry. Blades clashed, growls rumbled, voices shouted, and then it was over as her warg fell and did not rise.

Except it had fallen on the side where her head was this time.

Deorynn had had _quite_ enough of this.

Wriggling furiously, she shouted through her gag. Whoever had killed the warg and orc was now her new best friend, but she needed to get out of this. She kicked and pounded her legs on the dead warg's flank, hoping beyond hope she'd get the attention of whoever was out there. She stopped when she heard a rough voice:

"What in the name of Durin-?"

_Dwarves_. Well, that figured. Anyone _not_ an orc was more than welcome to her right now, but did it _have_ to be dwarves?

Deorynn had no time to consider it though, as the ropes binding her to the warg were cut and she flopped over in an exceedingly undignified manner. She growled in indignation, briefly, but someone else shouted, "No time, Dwalin, leave it!" as a powerful voice cried, "Move! RUN!"

Not giving a thought to her pride, Deorynn _screamed._

_No no, please don't leave me, not here, just take me with you get me out of here by Mahal don't leave me!…._

A grunt, and suddenly she'd been thrown over a shoulder and was bouncing along like a sack of potatoes again. Really, the only thing that kept her from dying of humiliation at this point was the very distinct possibility she might _die_ for _real_ in the next five minutes. Deorynn listened carefully as she rode along on her unknown hero's shoulder, cries of "There's more coming!" and "there they are!" interspersed with orders and names; "This way, quickly!" and "Kíli, shoot them!"

Deorynn blinked, certain she had heard that name wrong. What was it about those two that they were still on her mind weeks after she'd encountered them? Maybe she was going mad.

For now, her rescuer had stopped running and was instead turning rapidly. With a sinking feeling, Deorynn realized they were surrounded. Then someone shouted something about being abandoned, followed only by the howls of wargs, the hiss of arrows, and the ring of steel as blades were prepared to fight.

"Ori!" the one carrying her shouted. "Make yourself useful, lad, and take this!" She lost her breath briefly as she was tossed and caught, presumably by Ori, who stumbled just a bit at her weight.

There was a beat of relative silence, then a shout of "This way, you fools!" and she was moving again. The unfortunate dwarf (she assumed it was still a dwarf) carrying her tripped a bit and she cried out instinctively in alarm, but he did not drop her.

There was a sudden jump, a feeling of weightlessness that terrified her, and then she was rolling for the second time that day. Fortunately, Ori weighed less than a warg and was kinder than one, so when he landed on top of her, he scrambled off.

Suddenly, she was alone, and Deorynn thought that feeling scared her more than anything else she'd experienced that day. The quiet sounds of several people around her gaining their feet and checking on one another were drowned out by the clear, bright call of a horn from above—an elf horn, she recognized with a small thrill. She could hear more shouts from the orcs, more arrows, the pounding of hoofbeats (oh, how it eased her heart!), and then gasps of alarm as one of the orc's dying cries came closer. An arrow was torn from flesh—she'd know that sound anywhere—and a gruff voice stated in disgust, "Elves."

Ah, the dwarven hatred of elves. It often went both ways, if her experience was any to go by, but she never had understood it.

Now that all was relatively quiet, however, she was less concerned about things like inter-racial communication and more concerned with getting out of this horrid sack. She wriggled and cried out again, and several voices murmured in alarm, her rescuers evidently having forgotten she was there. Heavy boots moved toward her and stilled beside her ear. The sack opened at her feet as the ropes binding it were cut, and a knife sliced the bag straight up the middle, causing Deorynn to blink, even in the dimmed light inside what looked to be a cave.

As soon as she could see, her brow furrowed. There was a party of dwarves standing over her, wearing looks varying from concern to confusion to outright suspicion. The closest one to her was massive, for a dwarf, and absolutely intimidating. He looked gruff and held two large battleaxes, and his bald spot was tattooed with dwarfish runes. Her eyes widened and she shied away before she could stop herself. A kindly-looking dwarf with white hair stepped forward with a grin, "Dwalin, perhaps let someone else talk to the lassie—"

He was cut off by her gasp of recognition at the dark-haired young dwarf who appeared behind him. Her voice was raspy from shouting when she croaked:

"Kíli?!"

Well, _that_ got everyone's attention. The young man clearly didn't recognize her for a moment, during which moment a larger dwarf who looked remarkably like him stepped between them, asking gruffly, "who are you?"

Deorynn's eyes widened even further as she looked harder at his face, his sigil evident on his belt, the arrangement of his braids….

"King Thorin," she breathed.

Kíli, meanwhile, had figured out where he'd seen those green eyes before and was poking Fíli in the shoulder repeatedly, trying to find words. Fíli looked, and spoke for both of them when he said past Thorin's shocked stuttering at the girl's use of a title he'd yet to fully claim:

"_Lelaenil?"_

Her eyes locked with his blue ones, and several things hit her at once. The first was an intense feeling of relief and joy at seeing any familiar faces, even if they were all but strangers. The second was the sudden remembrance at just how out of sorts she was at the moment—namely, the fact that her hair was hopelessly tangled and hung in uneven shreds down her back. The third was a crushing physical exhaustion, brought on by two days of travel, torture, complete lack of sustenance, and now shock. These conflicting emotions were all so powerful, and so intense, she didn't have any clue how to respond to any of them; so for a long moment everyone just stared at each other.

Then the questions began.

"_Where did you disappear to?"_

"_How do you know my name, girl?"_

"_How did you get here?"_

"_Who is Lelaenil?"_

"_What is going on?!"_

Deorynn looked from one to the other rapidly, her brain feeling a bit like it might overload, and her gaze locked on Kíli. She didn't know she was wearing an expression of completely helpless, overwhelmed exhaustion, but he saw, and knelt beside her. "All right, you lot, leave the poor girl be for a moment! Look at her, she's probably in shock." He leaned close to her. "What do you need, lass?"

Her hand going to her hair instinctively, she barely registered the heartbroken look Kíli gave her. "A cloak?" she croaked. "With a hood, please?"

Fíli had anticipated the request the moment he saw her hair, wild and mussed beyond belief. But more than that, it was evident that great bits of it had been hacked off or ripped out. For a dwarf, there was no deeper shame, and he had hurried to get something to cover it for the girl. He did not know if she was a dwarf—her face was entirely too smooth, not a trace of hair along her jaw—but she was certainly reacting to the loss of her hair like one.

Once she was wrapped securely in his spare cloak, Kíli had helped her to stand, Fíli taking a place on her other side in case she fell. Thorin winced inwardly at the sight of the lass; she was covered in bruises, lacerations, and filth, all that besides the shameful state of her hair. It was obvious she'd been with the orcs long enough for them to torment her. Pity stirred in his breast, and he softened his gaze as he asked again—he needed to know this—albeit more gently, "How do you know my name, lass?"

She looked at him, steeling herself before answering. "My mother had a sketch of you when I was growing up. She said you were the rightful King Under the Mountain, where she came from, and raised me to place my allegiance to the Line of Durin."

He seemed satisfied with that answer, though Deorynn suspected he would be requiring more than that at some point. Kíli chose that moment to speak.

"Thorin, this is the maiden who saved me from drowning in the Lune, just before we got to Bilbo's."

Thorin started. "The Angel of Travelers? Lelaenil?"

Fíli and Kíli both nodded, though the girl looked at his feet. "Please," she murmured, uncomfortable. "My name is Deorynn." Then she added, as a bitter afterthought, "And I'm certainly no angel."

The brothers looked slightly affronted, but Thorin nodded, recognizing the bitterness and knowing better than to challenge it right this moment. He regarded her briefly before bowing to her like a lord might to a lady. "You saved my youngest sister-son's life, my heir's sanity, and my own heart from irreparable damage; I thank you and pledge a debt of blood to you."

Thorin's...sister-son? She had rescued a _prince_?

As Deorynn stood there in shock, Fíli stepped in front of her and bowed as his Uncle had. "Deorynn, you saved my brother from a horrible death and me from a horrible life without him; I thank you and pledge a debt of blood to you."

She was shaking her head, protests forming on her lips, when Kíli followed suit. "My lady, you preserved my life and saw me reunited with my family; I thank you and pledge a debt of blood to you."

Deorynn curtseyed to them all a bit clumsily, given her injuries, while the rest of the party looked on in awe. For the first time, she noticed the curly-haired hobbit standing beside the tall man in grey with a pointed hat—a wizard? This day was just getting odder and odder; first a blood debt owed her-three, actually!-for apparently saving the life of a prince, then a party of dwarves traveling with a Shireling and a wizard? It was rapidly becoming too much, and Deorynn thought she might just break down and cry in front of the lot of them if they didn't _stop looking at her._

Her rescue came in the form of one of the dwarves declaring there was a tunnel leading he-knew-not-where, and should they follow it or no? With someone else's assertion that they should "follow it, of course!" they were off again. Deorynn found herself strategically placed between Fíli and Kíli, and they reached out to help her each time she stumbled.

And so the entire party squeezed through the tiny crevasse in the rock, headed hopefully toward safety.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, though I would_** love**_ to own Rivendell. Are you kidding? I'd never leave.

A/N: Well this chapter was needlessly stubborn, but I think I managed to wrestle it into something approaching coherent. Enjoy! And don't forget to review: reviews are to me what gold is to the Line of Durin. *borderline-maniacal laugh*

* * *

Thorin thought long and hard as they navigated through the deep passage toward Mahal-knew-what. He had not liked Gandalf's refusal to answer his query about where they were going, and he had a nasty feeling it had to do with elves. Chances were, he was leading them right to Rivendell, clearly against Thorin's wishes.

It made him exceedingly angry, feeling like he was losing control of his own quest.

It brought a slight smirk to his face that Gandalf seemed as in the dark as the rest of them regarding the girl, though. At least the wizard wasn't _all_-knowing. His amusement lasted only a moment, however, as her downcast eyes and marked skin came to mind. In the interest of time and the urgency to move from their location, he had accepted her answer regarding her knowledge of him; but he still did not know enough to have her anywhere near his Company, much less his nephews. She'd said her mother was a dwarf of Erebor, which would have made her a subject of his; but it had not escaped his notice that she mentioned nothing of her father. That alone implied much, and if he had to hazard a guess based on her appearance, Thorin would have guessed her father might have been a Man; in any case, he seemed to be unknown to her.

_So a bastard and likely a half-breed_, Thorin mused. _And you've pledged a blood-debt to her._

He sighed. Thorin Oakenshield, while he presented to the world a face both stern and haughty, was not a heartless dwarf. He knew she had no control over her parentage; and based upon her reputation and actions with Fíli and Kíli—even without knowing they were princes—she was obviously doing her best to live honorably. And the girl was clearly competent. But none of that would stop the talk, he knew. Any association with someone like her would cause endless headaches for him and his heirs, especially once Erebor was retaken and anyone had any time to think about it. Thorin could not, in good conscience, wash his hands of her now, nor would he, in light of services rendered to his family; besides, she might even be someone he could grow to actually _like._ She certainly seemed to have an intelligent head on her shoulders.

Plus, he thought wryly as he looked back to see both Fíli and Kíli helping the girl along, a protectiveness in their bearing that he recognized, it looked as if his sister-sons had adopted the stranger already.

Forcing away thoughts of politics and greedy manipulative leaders, he wondered with some amusement if she knew what she'd gotten herself into.

* * *

Several feet behind Thorin, Kíli reached out to help Deorynn as she stumbled once more. He could tell her body had nearly reached its limit by the way she was beginning to trip over nothing but air. When again she nearly went down with a hiss of pain, he didn't withdraw his hand from around her waist. Fíli held her other elbow, and together they took much of her weight off her own two feet. She was too tired to protest, though he felt she might have had the situation been any different. She looked ashamed as she whispered her thanks to him and his brother.

Kíli frowned. Her confidence had been replaced with shame, and there was a heaviness about her bearing that concerned him.

_No surprise there, you numbskull,_ he thought to himself. _She was captured and obviously tortured by orcs. You'd be withdrawn and sullen too, if you were exhausted, terrified, and had been completely stripped of your dignity._

He felt the punch of adrenaline at the sudden surge of anger that thought generated. Dwarf women were few, and precious, and it was a grievous crime to harm one. Though he knew Deorynn to be completely capable of taking care of herself, he found himself wanting desperately to rip apart every orc that had done this to her. He looked at her face, partially covered by the hood; green eyes—one of which was ringed by a dark bruise—round cheeks, and chapped lips, and it struck him again how lovely he thought she was.

Even with ragged, uneven strands of broken, dirty hair escaping the hood of his spare cloak.

It wasn't long before Kíli could hear water ahead, and Dwalin led them out of the narrow crack and onto a rocky ledge overlooking a beautiful valley. Bilbo had stopped just outside the opening, completely awestruck.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf stated. "In the common tongue, it is known by another name."

Bilbo murmured, almost to himself, "Rivendell."

That was when Deorynn looked up, her dull eyes sparking with something other than pain or shock for the first time since they'd found her. She straightened a bit, trying to see past Dwalin's head without being too obvious about it. Kíli smirked just a little; the valley held little appeal for him. He didn't hate elves, he supposed, but he also had no interest in them.

"Thank Mahal and all the Valar," the girl next to him whispered. "There will be food there. And bathing tubs. And blankets."

Now _that_, Kíli was interested in. Fíli grinned at their new friend. "All that sounds lovely indeed. Except perhaps the bathing tubs. I don't think Kíli or I need them."

Deorynn looked slightly shocked for a second that the Heir of Durin would say such a thing, then her eyes warmed and she smiled for the first time in a good while. "I suppose you don't, unless you ever expect to be allowed to help me again." She sniffed a couple times to make her point, then made a dramatically disgusted face and mimed vomiting on Kíli's shoes.

"Hey!" he protested in mock indignation. "These are my best boots!"

Everyone else headed down the well-kept path into the valley. Kíli smiled at Deorynn and bowed gallantly before grasping her waist firmly again, Fíli taking her arm. "Well, my lady, shall we?" The smile on her face did not dim as she placed a hand on each of the brothers' shoulders and began to walk slowly.

They made it into the courtyard without incident, which surprised Kíli a bit, since the poor girl was too busy gawking at everything to watch where her feet were stepping. More than once on that walk she trod on his or Fíli's toes. Not that it hurt, it just amused him.

* * *

Once they reached the circular courtyard, they stood milling about for a moment before a dark-haired elf glided down the stairs to stand before them, calling Gandalf's name in Elvish. They spoke briefly, a conversation which was cut short by the same elf-horn they had heard in the cave. Deorynn gasped in delight and turned to see what looked to be an Elven hunting party galloping across the stone bridge toward them.

The other dwarves, it seemed, didn't share her enthusiasm. Thorin shouted to close ranks, first in Khuzdul, then in Common. Deorynn found herself thrust into the middle of a tightly packed group of bristling dwarves, wincing as the sudden movement jostled her sore ribs. She looked down at Bilbo, who had been tossed into the middle as well, for protection, and smiled.

In spite of their situation, he smiled back at her.

The elves rode in circles around them for a few moments, slowing their horses and getting their bearings. Deorynn admired their beautiful steeds and graceful forms, while Fíli and Thorin practically growled in front of her. A tall, slender elf with long brown hair and an elegant circlet upon his brow smiled at Gandalf and greeted him warmly. They spoke for a few minutes in Sindarin, and then the elf lord dismounted.

Deorynn knew him by reputation only. This was Lord Elrond, Master of the House of Rivendell, and the foremost Healer in Middle Earth. She stared.

He was being introduced to Thorin, who was looking rather tense about the whole thing; and then he was speaking again in Sindarin—this time to their King, which most of the dwarves took offense to, a red-haired dwarf she'd not yet been introduced to shouting, "Does he offer us insult?!" Deorynn nearly laughed out loud when Gandalf said, with the air of a long-suffering parent, "No, Master Gloin, he is offering you food."

While the dwarves murmured amongst themselves, Deorynn's body seemed to have decided that was quite enough excitement for one day and it was long past time to give up. She swayed dangerously and sucked in a breath as dizziness assaulted her, every bruise and scratch and strain made itself known, and her knees trembled. The one named Ori stood beside her (she needed to remember to thank him later for carrying her), and catching her arm, exclaimed loudly, "Please! She needs medical attention!"

Lord Elrond's gaze snapped to her. It would have embarrassed her had blackness not been gathering at the edges of her vision, her head fuzzy and her chest aching. She gave the Elf Lord a weak wave instead of a curtsey and murmured, "'t'your service, milord" vaguely. The ancient healer swept her up into his arms, ignoring the protests of several of the dwarves. Thorin positioned himself in front of Lord Elrond—Deorynn thought distantly that that was awfully brave of him—and said calmly, but in a tone that brooked no argument, "Kíli is her friend. He will accompany her."

Lord Elrond hesitated, but then nodded shortly and began to walk again. Thorin squeezed Kíli's shoulder and murmured in his ear, "be careful, and keep her safe." Kíli nodded and took off at a jog to keep up.

Deorynn was floating on the very edge of consciousness, fighting to remain awake as Elrond carried her through high, open halls. Eventually, he laid her on a soft bed in a beautiful room, and several elves came to assist him. Kíli stumbled in just behind them, panting a little but looking relieved when he saw her lying on the bed. Elrond ran practiced fingers over her exposed skin gently, his face grim when she sucked in harsh breaths or whimpered at the pain. He looked at the young dwarf prince keeping watch and said, not unkindly, "You ought to turn around; we must get her into a clean gown."

Deorynn wanted to protest—she couldn't stand to be undressed by these complete strangers—but her mother's old exhortation to always do as a Healer said, to trust them, stopped her. Lord Elrond looked at her and smiled a bit. "What is your name, young miss?"

"Deorynn," she gasped.

"All right, Lady Deorynn, I need to get your clothes off so I can assess the damage. Do you mind if I cut them while removing them?"

The girl shook her head anxiously. "Please, they're all I have left. The orcs stole my gear…."

Elrond shushed her gently. "Very well then, Cirryn, help her sit up."

When they unclasped the cloak and drew it from her shoulders, removing the hood, Deorynn heard one of the ladies gasp softly, though it was quickly stifled. Her sandy-brown hair stuck up in all directions and hung in tattered lengths down her back. Lord Elrond's eyes hardened slightly, but the look was gone almost instantly as he helped Cirryn remove Deorynn's tunic. They laid her back down, then, not forcing her to remove her undergarments and suffer yet more indignity, and Lord Elrond began pressing on her bruised abdomen—courtesy of orc boots and clubs—to check for internal bleeding while Cirryn and the other female attendant removed her boots and leggings.

Her arms and legs were a mess of lacerations and bruises, hardly an inch of unmarked skin anywhere on her body save her face, which was marred with two lacerations, some scrapes, and a black eye. Miraculously, no bones were badly broken, but two of her ribs were cracked—that explained why breathing hurt so much, she realized. Cirryn sent the younger attendant for hot herbal water and some cloths with which to clean the girl's wounds.

Lord Elrond placed his hands over Deorynn's heart and murmured a few words in a beautiful language she couldn't understand. A cool, soothing sensation spread from her chest outward, as though her very blood was being cleansed. She murmured weakly, "what was that?" The Elf smiled. "A spell to heal internal injuries; it will help your bruises clear faster, and stop any serious internal bleeding, although I think you managed to escape that particularly unpleasant experience."

He moved to her extremities just as the young elf returned with a basin of sweet-smelling hot water and two cloths. Cirryn thanked her and began cleaning Deorynn's skin, starting with her face. The water felt divine, leaving behind a pleasant tingle, and Cirryn was gentle. Between the hot water, being dried with a warm towel, and the spell running through her body, Deorynn began to feel quite drowsy. Lord Elrond snapped her out of it briefly for one more question:

"These cuts, were they made with orc blades?"

Deorynn shook her head. "No, they cut me wit' my own, sir."

"Thank the Valar for that," he replied, then noticed her vaguely confused look. "At least your blades were clean. It looks like infection shouldn't be a problem with these."

Deorynn nodded, blissful darkness calling her again. She heard Lord Elrond order Cirryn to finish cleaning her, front and back, rub salve on all the lacerations and bruises, wrap the worst wounds, and then get her into a nightgown. That all sounded quite lovely, and the water still smelled wonderful, and Cirryn started singing gently to her.

Sleep claimed her hardly a minute later.

* * *

Fíli ate the meal of greens and vegetables slowly, not participating in the moaning for meat—not because he didn't _want_ meat; but because, as the Heir, he had nearly as much responsibility to act civilly toward their hosts as Thorin did. Thorin did not complain; therefore, Fíli would not. Whether they knew he was Thorin's heir had little bearing on the situation.

He watched his uncle's interactions with the Elf Lord at the head table carefully; he seemed to be doing his best to remain respectful, going so far as to bow his head to Elrond when he handed him back the sword they'd found in the troll horde. Fíli ducked his head to hide a smile. His uncle was quite good at tact and politeness, when he could be bothered to use those skills—which was not often, so he hoped the Elf was enjoying it.

The complaining had finally reached a head—this time about the soft music playing—when Bofur stood up on a stool and began singing about the Man in the Moon, resulting in a cease of the complaints, but a definite increase in the amount of food being literally thrown around. Fíli laughed out loud and tossed a piece of bread at his friend, nearly falling out of his chair in mirth when it sailed past him and hit old Balin in the face instead. Looking to the side, he noticed even his uncle was stomping his feet and clapping his hands, a rare easy smile on his face.

Most of the elves look scandalized, which only made Fíli laugh harder.

A little while later, he carried a bowl of the greens—which really weren't all that awful, surprisingly—through the halls and toward the Healing Houses. Lord Elrond had told them that they were welcome to visit their friend there, and Fíli had decided instantly to bring his brother some food and offer him a break from watching over the girl. He hadn't had a chance to bathe or rest yet, and Fíli was determined he should as soon as possible.

He knocked on the door, which was slightly ajar, and pushed it open. Deorynn was wrapped up in clean white blankets and sleeping soundly, Kíli standing beside the bed, his eyes on the door. Upon seeing his brother, he relaxed and gave him a tired smile. Fíli entered and brought him the food, slinging an arm round his shoulders.

"You should sit down before you fall over, nadadith."

Kíli smirked. "I'm fine." But he sat down anyway, as Fíli stood where he had a moment ago. "How was dinner?"

Fíli laughed softly at that. "You'd have been highly amused, Kee. Uncle was polite. And Bofur sang the Man in The Moon Stayed Out Too Late, which of course started a food fight, and the elves just about died of shock."

Kíli looked up from his dinner and chuckled, "Truly, brother?"

"Truly."

The young dwarf shook his head in amusement and turned back to his bowl. Fíli turned to look at their new friend, her face peaceful in sleep. Someone had gone through the trouble of finger combing her uneven locks and arranging them to the side of her head on the pillow. He wondered if it had been Kíli or one of the elves. Normally such an action would be considered highly inappropriate; but in this situation, he knew it was a kindness. The girl looked much better than she had earlier, in any case, color having returned to her skin and the various cuts and bruises tended to.

"They cut her with her own knives, Fee." His brother spoke quietly, sounding disturbed. "They cracked her ribs, tore out her hair, and cut her with her own knives."

Fíli inhaled sharply. "_Mahal_."

Kíli shuddered as he came to stand beside his brother. "What can we do for her?"

Fíli squeezed his shoulder, the two of them standing guard over the sleeping girl. "Exactly what we're doing right now."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Disclaimer: I checked again, and alas, I still do not own any of this. Except Deorynn, naturally.

A/N: Well, here we are at the Company's stay in Rivendell. I anticipate we'll get a good several chapters out of this, much of it entertaining, some of it enlightening and a bit of it angsty. This chapter is a MONSTER, and I hope it doesn't stray into "boring" territory. Two things that I'd like to establish for the record at this point: 1) Thorin currently has no intention of allowing Deorynn to accompany them on their quest to Erebor. Just because he has an inkling he could grow to like her, and did not protest her presence with the Company during the short journey from the cave to Rivendell, does not mean he's writing her up a contract. Nothing is further from his mind at this point. I think it would be unrealistic for him to accept her as part of his Company so soon, despite what she did for Kíli. 2) The Kíli/OC aspect of this is going to take a good while. I've gone ahead and acknowledged that Kíli finds her attractive—in my estimation, it's very realistic for two people to notice each other are good-looking right off the bat—but there won't be any romantic displays or declarations of love anytime soon. Keep in mind that real love takes time to grow, in most cases, and I intend to give these two plenty of it. Well, as much time as one can fit into a quest, anyhow.

Thanks, as always, for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated!

Now onto the story already!

* * *

Deorynn floated in that lovely place between sleep and wakefulness; she was warm and whatever she was lying on was deliciously soft, blessed darkness enveloped her, and the gentle sounds of early morning reached her ears. _It must be just before dawn_, she realized slowly, lazily. She moaned in satisfaction as she began to waken. Perhaps she would climb just out of the valley and watch the sun rise over the mountains to the east. Sunrise over Rivendell would be something indeed.

_Rivendell._

Everything that had happened came rushing back and she shot up with a start. Or tried to. She gasped in agony—which only made it hurt worse—and flopped back onto the pillows. _Perhaps not just yet_, she thought in regards to the sunrise. Across the room, one of the dwarves woke loudly in his chair, blinking at her owlishly. It was Ori, the young one that had carried her in the sack yesterday—had it been yesterday? How long had she been asleep? Apparently Thorin had a watch over her, which was entirely unnecessary, but also all the more reason to get out of this bed sooner rather than later. She smiled at the dwarf.

"You're Ori, right?"

He nodded. "At your service, my lady."

She laughed, and then winced. "I'm no lady. Please, call me Deorynn. How long have I been asleep?"

"We arrived here day before yesterday, so….about thirty-seven hours" he replied with a grin, then jumped as if he had remembered something. "But you're awake! I ought to fetch Thorin, he wished to speak with you."

Deorynn's smile faded. "Do you think you could ask him to give me a couple hours to bathe and make myself presentable? I'll probably be allowed to leave bed right away today—there's no need to keep me here for some scratches and bruised ribs."

Lord Elrond swept in at that moment. "Perhaps not, my Lady Deorynn, but we shall check you over thoroughly just the same." Deorynn blushed, "of course, my Lord."

Ori turned his seat about, clearly not willing to leave even now, as Elrond checked her lacerations and her ribs. He ordered her bruises and cuts be bathed with the herbal water again—Deorynn was impressed to see it had done wonders in the hours she had slept—and then she was free to get up. They would see her to a room later that day. He took his leave then, and Cirryn smiled as she brought the basin over.

This time, Deorynn had the presence of mind to smile back. "Are you Cirryn?"

The elf maiden's smile widened. "I am. And you are Deorynn."

"Yes. You are a healer?" She winced as she lifted her arms over her head to remove the nightgown.

"Only an apprentice to Master Elrond."

Deorynn looked awed. "I imagine that is quite the honor." Cirryn inclined her head in agreement.

And so they continued in such a manner as the warm water soothed Deorynn's damaged skin and muscles. When Cirryn was finished, she laid a hand on the dwarf woman's shoulder and looked into her eyes, speaking quietly enough Ori could not hear. "You will heal, _gornil. _You will heal, and you will heal _others_ around you; and in doing so will find what you have always sought. Do not give fear a seat in your heart, for you are stronger than you know."

Deorynn blinked, surprised at the sudden sting of tears behind her eyes. She had a feeling the healer wasn't just talking about physical healing, and her words had touched a place in Deorynn's heart that she seldom allowed herself to acknowledge.

"How did you know?" she whispered.

Cirryn gave her another smile before responding, "A true healer does not only heal broken bodies. Now, let's get you out of bed."

She took Deorynn's arm and helped her to turn so her feet dangled just above the floor. "Breathe slowly and deeply," she coached the girl. "Though your ribs are cracked, you mustn't wrap them or breathe shallowly while they're healing, or they will restrict your lungs and perhaps lead to illness." Deorynn nodded, doing as she was instructed. She scooted off the mattress, dropping the couple inches to the floor, wincing as the slight impact stung her chest. Cirryn gave her a minute, then let go slowly as the girl withdrew her hand from the bed and stood on her own. Deorynn flashed her a brilliant smile and took a few tentative steps. When she managed to circle the room for several minutes without falling, Cirryn declared Deorynn sound of body, told her where to find the baths, and gave the girl her (now cleaned and mended) clothes, as well as some medicines. Then she shooed Ori off good-naturedly, and told him to report to his king that Deorynn would come to him as soon as she was ready.

* * *

Kíli had decided he quite liked the room he and Fíli had been given. It was airy and full of light, and reminded him of being outside. Fíli had just stepped out onto the spacious balcony when Kíli heard a soft knock at the door. He opened it to find a shamefaced dwarf maiden looking back at him nervously. He smiled and beckoned as he held the door for her, genuinely pleased to see her.

"Deorynn! You're awake! To what do we owe the pleasure? Hey, Fíli! Deorynn is here!"

Fíli's smiling face appeared at the balcony door, and he hurried over. "Greetings, my fair lady, how can my brother and I be of service?"

The girl forced a smile, but it was a tiny one. She looked at them each in turn, seeming to gather her courage. A tiny pit of concern burrowed in Kíli's stomach.

"It's…..it's my hair," she began. "I finally got to bathe, and so I washed it and combed it, and then the elves wanted to cut it for me—" Kíli heard Fíli's sharp intake of breath. "—and it does need to be cut, obviously, but I didn't want an elf to do it because to them it's _nothing_, but I can't do it myself, and, and… so I was hoping, perhaps…you'd help me with it? Cut it and find a way to cover up the…the…" she forced the words out, "…bald spots?"

She said the whole thing in a mighty rush, and looked terrified by the time she was through. Kíli didn't have to look at his brother to know their answer. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Of course we'll help you. Do you have shears? Knives don't work well for this kind of thing."

She held out the silver shears in her hand.

They went and stood by the mirror, Deorynn facing it, and the brothers stood on either side at her back. Kíli took the shears—his hands were steadier at this kind of work—and began combing through the ragged strands, looking for the shortest ones. He only was going to cut what he absolutely had to. Fíli stood and assisted where necessary, keeping one hand on the girl's trembling arm. After locating the shortest chunk of Deorynn's hair—which reached barely past her shoulder, slightly shorter than the length he kept his own—he tapped her spine just below the shortest strands and murmured gently, "I'm going to have to cut to here."

Deorynn's shoulders shook and she breathed deeply for several moments. Kíli let her be, giving her time before he continued, awaiting her consent, as was proper. Finally, she looked up at him through the mirror, and their gazes locked.

She nodded.

For the next half hour, Kíli snipped and brushed, gently removing the uneven, destroyed pieces of her hair. Thankfully, the bald bits were few and small; nothing a couple of well-placed braids wouldn't cover up nicely. When he finished, the style was a bit short for a dwarf lass; but she was an unconventional one anyhow. She studied it in the mirror, then nodded her approval and turned.

"_Thank you_," she murmured earnestly, looking both brothers in the eye, "I could not have done that myself."

Kíli smiled, and Fíli squeezed her arm. "It's actually rather becoming on you," he said kindly. She shifted uncomfortably—compliments were not something she was used to fielding—and nodded. "Thanks. I should…go. I have to meet your uncle this morning."

"Yes, we know," Fíli answered. "He mentioned it to us and asked if we wished to be present."

Kíli finished for him, "We said we'd be there if you wanted us there."

Deorynn looked startled, but nodded an affirmative. "You may come, if you wish."

* * *

Thorin looked up from the scrolls he had been looking over when he heard the soft knock on the door of the study. Lord Elrond had given him the room to use during their stay over the next two weeks, and Thorin appreciated it more than he cared to admit. It was a quiet place to think, plan, or read; and made for a less intimate meeting place for the Company than his chambers, while affording them a sense of privacy that would not be present in one of the open rooms or balconies.

"Enter," he called.

Young Deorynn opened the door, looking much better than she had day before last when Elrond had rushed her off to the Healing Houses. Her clothes were clean, bruises fading, and her hair was cut and braided—Kíli's doing, if he hazarded a guess, and the thought made him stiffen a bit, forcing himself to remember these were extenuating circumstances. Normally, braiding another's hair was a sign of intimacy—and he wanted no signs of intimacy between this mysterious girl and any of his kin. Kíli seemed to guess what his uncle was thinking, and met his gaze squarely, communicating silently to his elder that he did not believe he had done anything wrong. Thorin nodded slightly, a sign that he understood. Unaware of the nonverbal conversation that had just taken place, Deorynn sat gingerly in the chair Thorin indicated was for her, looking nervous but determined. His sister-sons entered behind her and came to sit on either side of him.

Thorin cleared his throat and sat back comfortably in the chair, folding his hands in front of him. "How do you feel, Miss Deorynn?"

She quirked a small smile. "Much better, thank you."

He nodded. "That is good. Let us speak plainly with one another. You saved Kíli's life. We are all indebted to you for that. However, we know nothing of you past that and the reputation you seem to have built. Tell me, who is Lelaenil? Why would you become her? Who is your family? You claim to be of the dwarves of Erebor, but your story—and your claim—is incomplete. I require answers, Deorynn."

The girl before him nodded grimly. "I thought you might." She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze lingering on Kíli, who was the least threatening at the moment. Then she took a deep breath and began her tale.

"My mother was, as I've said, a dwarf of Erebor. She was very young—only fifteen—when the dragon came. Her parents were both killed in that slaughter, and she wandered with the displaced dwarves for a time. After many months, they passed through a small dwarven village in Emyn Muil, south of the Mirkwood; and it was there my mother met an old dwarf matron who offered to take her in. She stayed and grew there, and loved that old woman deeply. The woman, Morin, practically raised her—they lived happily for many years.

"There was a lot of trade there in Emyn Muil, with the humans who lived just over the Great River, in Rohan. Morin was a healer, so she always had herbs and tonics to sell. She'd send my mother off to town to trade at least once a month. It was on one of those trips that she met my da."

Deorynn paused here, swallowing thickly, her nerves more apparent than ever. "As I'm sure you've guessed, he was no dwarf, but a Man. A young man, only twenty winters—for Men, that is like….ninety-five winters for one of us….which made the two of them really comparable in age, because my mother was one-hundred three at the time." Meeting Thorin's gaze head on, Deorynn continued, the light blush rising in her cheeks the only sign of her embarrassment at what came next. "As you can well imagine, the extent of their relationship was quite the secret. They loved one another, or so mother always told me, but no one in either society would have accepted such a match. They managed well enough for several months, nearly a year I think, before mother found out she was with child. Morin was disappointed in her, but kind; the rest of the village not so much. She was thrown out of the settlement."

"She went first to my da, of course, who asked her to marry him; and the reaction of his family and the townspeople was much the same as it had been in Emyn Muil for her. He was given the choice between her and his child; or his family, home, and career as a blacksmith. Perhaps he can be forgiven if he chose the security of his home over an uncertain, difficult life with Mother and me. Regardless, Mother was pregnant, vulnerable, and homeless; so she set off for the Iron Hills. It was the closest dwarf settlement she knew of, and that wasn't saying much since it took her nearly a year and all her money to get there. Terrified of being cast out again, and with a wee one on the way, she told the dwarves there that her husband had been killed on the way from Emyn Muil. They accepted her, and she got a job sewing clothes in one of the smaller dwarf towns in the mountains.

"That is where I was born and raised. Things went well for a time, until it became clear I was nothing like the other dwarf children, few though they were. I never grew so much as a patch of facial hair, and I was much taller and slimmer than my companions. I was also more fragile; I suffered more bruises, sprains, and breaks, just from normal play and sparring, than any dwarf they'd ever seen. As a result, I was mocked and really not liked much, so I spent most of my early childhood in the woods outside the settlement, climbing trees and laying pretend traps. Oh, and my bow—I saw a hunter with a bow once, and I nagged my mother until she bought me one. I was good with it from the start, but never encouraged to train with it because mother thought it contributed to my…'abnormal behavior.'

"Mother married the Chief of our small town in my nineteenth summer. By that point, the constant pressure from her and the derision of my peers had driven me so far inside myself that I barely noticed. She eventually told Dalos, her husband, where I came from; and while he did nothing to publicly shame her, he _hated_ me. She was happy, though, and I was satisfied with that. When she gave birth to my baby brother, Talos, two years later, I thought I would never want for love again." Deorynn's eyes sparkled. "That little boy was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was so happy when he would look at me and smile, or tug on my tunic and call my name, or follow me into the woods and we would play for hours. Dalos never got angry at _him_ for those escapades—he blamed me instead—but I didn't care what he thought, so Talos and I had wonderful times together out there.

"That all lasted until my thirtieth summer. The night of my name day, our town was attacked by a company of Orcs from the far north. Naturally, the Chief Dwarf and his family were prime targets; and Dalos, my mother, and Talos were killed as I hid in the shadows. It turned out, Dalos had told _one_ person of my parentage, his brother, and sworn him to secrecy for the sake of my mother. With her out of the picture, word quickly got out what I was. I was deemed too young to be thrown out of the town outright; and for the love of Dalos toward my mother, I was given a bed and food in his brother's home. But there was no love for me there. I took odd jobs where I could, saving most of my coin, and using the rest to learn archery and a very small amount of smithing—enough to make knives, daggers, that sort of thing. I also learned all I could from the town healer about herbs, edible plants, salves and tonics, treatment of small wounds: he was more sympathetic to my plight than most, and I think he knew of my plan perhaps before even I did.

"When I turned forty-five, I left. They were glad to be rid of me, I'm sure. I had already accepted the dwarves' rejection of me, and figured the humans would treat me the same; so I never bothered to find a place to settle. I worked when I needed coin—eventually I learned to hunt and trap well enough to survive quite comfortably on the sale of furs and meat, not to mention bone and whatnot; also I sometimes make and sell herbal salves, tinctures, teas—and traveled when I didn't.

"The first time I took on a group of orcs was really not by choice. They were camped between me and the inn I needed to reach—it was the dead of winter, and there was a nasty blizzard moving in—and I had no time to go around. So I hid in the shadows and picked them off with my arrows and throwing knives. Word reached town the next day, and I overheard some travelers talking about it at the inn; an entire party of the disgusting creatures with homemade arrows stuck in their bellies.

"I realized that this was something I didn't need the acceptance of others to accomplish. I could remain anonymous and live my life on the move; but still become something that people would judge based upon action rather than race. So I made it my personal mission to harrow and eliminate as many orcs and bandits as I could find.

"The first several years were extremely hard. I didn't always succeed, and sometimes got injuries, even was captured twice. I used to poison my blades, until I had one thrown at me in the midst of a melee once—I nearly died when it got me in the thigh and I couldn't remove it for several minutes. But I did manage to survive, and it's gotten easier over the years, I'm stronger, smarter, and better now than I've ever been."

She smiled at Fíli and Kíli. "And then several weeks ago, I met these two crossing the River Lune, headed east, was captured by that blasted hunting party, and then found you all."

Deorynn paused, then lifted her chin and said, almost defiantly, "and if you feel the need to reject me based upon the blood that runs through my veins, I shall not protest, though I can't promise you I would refuse to assist you should the opportunity arise. I learned long ago that I do not need anyone's permission to place my allegiance where I will. You may not accept it, but you _have_ my loyalty, Thorin Oakenshield."

* * *

*_gornil_—valiant one


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. *sob*

A/N: This chapter will briefly touch on some issues that might be a bit of a sore spot. Before anyone loses their temper at our Durins, please remember that racism between dwarves, humans, and elves was a very prevalent theme in Tolkien's works and in Middle Earth. Deorynn's entire situation is a testament to that. Her goal is to make a dent in the philosophy, and she will; but meanwhile, even our favorite dwarves are put off by the idea of a dwarf being with anyone other than a dwarf. Try not to be too angry with them, eh? I think they handle it pretty well, all things considered.

Also, I imagine some of Deorynn's behavior in this chapter (and indeed, from here on) will seem a bit odd or confusing: I'd encourage you to remember this is a woman who's never had a real friend, and has been on the road, completely alone, for about forty years. She's unaccustomed to dealing with others in any capacity beyond rescuing them; which, while she is kind and loyal, will make for some interesting adjustments as she learns to be part of a group.

* * *

Thorin sat staring at the young woman before him, fighting down an inexplicable sense of irritation. He was torn, in a way that was wholly unfamiliar to him. The proper dwarf in him, the king and politician and lord, was repulsed by this girl, this bastard child, this…._half-breed_; while the warrior and leader in him was impressed by her pluck and her courage. The fatherly part of him—the part that Fíli and Kíli had awakened and spent the last eighty-some years developing—was horrified at what she had lived through and the rejection she faced at every turn. And the rebellious, non-conformist part of him cheered at her determination to prove everyone wrong, even if they never knew it. But still. _Half-breed_. It was an offense against nature! He growled internally; he was not accustomed to being of several minds at once and having trouble choosing between them. Kíli cleared his throat, and Thorin was brought back to the present, where Deorynn was sitting quietly, her gaze having not left his, though she was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable.

What did all this confusion accomplish? He did not need to give her anything, not just yet. His debt to her remained, regardless of her identity, but he had at _least_ until he re-took Erebor to think about how to handle it and what to do about her once things settled down. For now, he had a quest to focus on, and he had answers to the questions that concerned him most: the girl was likely not a threat (if she was being truthful, which her eyes said she was) to him or his kin, and he could just leave her here in Rivendell until he figured out what to do with her.

"Well, girl. You have given me much to think on," he began, noting the way her face froze for the tiniest second, and forced the words past his lips. "I can assure you, for my part, that you'll not be rejected based on something you had no control of, and instead judged for your actions. As to your declaration of fealty; I cannot accept it. Not right now. For now, all I can offer you is that I need time to think."

The girl in front of him swallowed, clearly hiding her disappointment, and inclined her head in respect. "Thank you, sir." Thorin nodded back and rose, signaling the end of the discussion. Deorynn and Kíli made for the door, the latter pausing when he realized his brother was staying behind. Fíli gave him a grin. "I'll be right behind you, brother." Kíli nodded and left.

Thorin turned to his eldest nephew, curious as to why he'd stayed and interested to hear what he had to say. He didn't allow his sister-sons to speak to him however they wished; but both of them were growing wiser as they got older, and Fíli often had perspectives that Thorin did not. He had learned that it was becoming more and more beneficial to him to consider what his boys said, especially if they felt strongly enough to seek him out about it. He sat again, motioning to Fíli to do the same.

"Fíli?"

The young man fingered the edge of his braided moustache thoughtfully. "I am…confused, Uncle. The idea of a half-human, half-dwarf makes my stomach churn; but I _like_ Deorynn. I respect her and admire what she's done with what life has given her. Part of me can understand why the Iron Hills Dwarfs mocked and rejected her—honestly, it surprises me not at all—but I find myself relating more to _her_ than them. I've seen firsthand what it's like to be scoffed at and disrespected for that which you cannot change—how many times has Kíli been called an elfling for enjoying the outdoors or being better at archery than swordplay?—yet his experience has been tame next to hers. I just…feel many opposing things, and it confuses me." He looked at Thorin as if he expected him to have an answer that would satisfy all the thoughts bouncing around in his head, and Thorin nearly sighed. Was he not struggling with exactly the same problem?

"Unfortunately, Fíli, I cannot give you what you seek," he replied, "for I am as torn as you are. It's as if there are many things about her to admire; but this part of you keeps coming back to the fact that she's not _like_ us at all. She's something entirely different, something that if not for her reputation and actions regarding _Kíli_, I would certainly consider inferior to me. Perhaps it is a flaw in our race that we so easily despise others; but I cannot say for certain. All I know for sure is that I'll not treat her poorly because of the sins of her parents, no more than I would treat Kíli poorly because he is different from you. Does that satisfy you?"

Fíli nodded. "It does, for now. I feel better knowing I'm not the only one confused by her."

At this, Thorin did grimace. "No, my boy, you certainly are not the only one."

* * *

A fair-haired, rather small elf met Deorynn in the hall outside the study appropriated to the dwarves. "Are you Lady Deorynn?" he asked, eyes flicking between her and Kíli with something akin to fascination. Clearly he'd never seen a dwarf before, male or female. Deorynn might have laughed, if her meeting with Thorin didn't weigh so heavily on her mind.

"Yes? Why?"

The youngling bowed. "My name is Faelar. I have instructions to show you to your room, miss."

Deorynn nodded. "Well then. Lead on, Master Faelar. Kíli, do you care to come along?" The young dwarf agreed, and fell in step beside her as Faelar hastened to reassure Deorynn that she could ask for directions anytime she needed them, from him or any other elf here.

Her room wasn't far, only a couple halls over from the study, and Faelar bowed as he opened the door for her, standing aside as she went in. The room was as lovely as the one in the Healing Wards had been, and more open—a balcony and large windows facing the south, high arches and pleasing colors surrounding a bed, end table, desk, and two chairs near the fireplace. The bed was larger than Deorynn needed, for certain, but it was luxuriously soft and definitely better than sleeping on the ground. She smiled at Faelar, about to ask him to pass her gratitude and compliments to Lord Elrond, when her gaze landed on a small bundle next to the foot of the bed, and she froze.

She bent beside it, going to her knees in the plush carpet as she fingered the knives in the worn leather belt carefully—restored and cleaned of orc filth and her own blood, they gleamed in the morning light. They were all there—the belt of throwing knives, plus her bracer and boot knives, and back and side sheathed daggers. Even her skinning knife had found its way back to her. Her bow was there too, oiled and polished, accompanied by her quiver refilled with goose-fletched arrows, straight and strong. She looked up at Faelar, who was grinning unabashedly at her reaction, boyish enthusiasm coming through as he explained, "Lord Elrond wanted to surprise you; they sent a group out to look for your gear yesterday, after you told him the orcs had stolen it. They didn't find your pack, but these were being kept with the largest of the filthy creatures, and they cleaned and sharpened them for you and everything!" Deorynn laughed breathlessly as he chattered on excitedly, drawing one of the daggers in awe, its weight and leather grip familiar in her hand. The things in her pack—clothes and salves and food and money—that could all be replaced; but these…..these she had forged herself, and were the only thing she carried that she had any real attachment to. They symbolized who she was—her independence, her choice to live as a warrior—and they were her tools by which she made lives better.

She would _never_ be able to repay Lord Elrond this kindness.

She looked up at Faelar, who had finally stopped talking; then at Kíli, who was smiling widely. Laughing, she stood and addressed the elfling. "Faelar, will you find out a time when it would be convenient for me to go thank Lord Elrond? I must bring him my gratitude personally, for this gift is far too great to pass in a message through someone else." Faelar nodded eagerly. "I shall! And meanwhile, is there anything else you require?"

Deorynn shook her head. "No, thank you. I will be with the other dwarves this afternoon; you can find me wherever they are."

Faelar bowed and left the room, visibly calming himself and restoring the emotionless detachment most of his race employed so well as he walked out the door. But Deorynn wasn't looking; her attention had returned to her weapons.

"I can't believe they got them back," she murmured.

Kíli looked over her shoulder at the throwing knives. "You carry nearly as many as Fíli does," he observed with a chuckle, reaching for one of the shining blades. "May I?" Deorynn nodded. "Of course, feel free."

He took one of the small blades out of the sheath and turned it about in his hand, gauging the grip, the weight of it. After a minute, he nodded his approval. "These are good knives," he stated. "Did you forge them yourself? I've never seen any quite like them before. And the etching—the rune for justice…nice touch."

Deorynn smiled as he referred to the symbol she carved into each small blade. "Well, that one is Justice," she drew the one next to it. "This one is Honor. They each have a different rune, each of the twelve throwing knives, at least." She ticked them off on her fingers, pleased at Kíli's obvious interest. She'd not had the opportunity to share this with anyone else, and she found she enjoyed telling him. "Justice, Honor, Courage, Loyalty, Honesty, Strength, Purity, Love, Kindness, Integrity, Compassion, and Wisdom. I always thought there was something poetic about inscribing on the knives that bring our enemies' deaths, the very values they seek to destroy in life. Plus it reminds me of the person I want to be." Kíli looked impressed as he murmured, "seems to me you're well on your way, Deorynn. Well on your way indeed."

She let him study the daggers for a moment, as well, before standing and sheathing the two side daggers to her belt. "You're welcome to practice with them later, if you throw knives; but for now, I'd really like to meet the rest of the group that saved my life!"

Kíli rose with a smile. "Ah yes, we'd best get back. This way, my friend."

He led the girl to the common room where most of the dwarves were gathered. Balin was with Thorin, and Fíli still hadn't showed up, but everyone else was there, laughing rather loudly about a story Nori had just finished relating about Ori—the one about the inkwell and a sleeping, unsuspecting Fíli, if Kíli wasn't mistaken—so he shouted to get their attention.

"Oi! You lot! Look who's up and about!"

With nine pairs of eyes on her, Deorynn seemed to shrink back momentarily, until Dwalin stood and walked over. The girl, seeming to sense a challenge, straightened and instantly lost the frightened look, though her eyes were still almost comically wide. Kíli marveled at the change; so she was afraid of being looked at, but not afraid of being threatened? Of course, he knew Dwalin meant no threat; but she clearly did not know that as her stance widened almost imperceptibly and her fingers twitched in the direction of her daggers. Reaching her, Dwalin studied her for a moment, noticing her suspicion, before smiling his approval and roaring, "Well lads! I must admit I had no idea that sack held such a treasure when I lopped it free of that warg and carried it a mile!" Several dwarves laughed, while Deorynn looked simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. Kíli took pity on her and punched Dwalin in the shoulder as he introduced him. "Deorynn, this is Dwalin. He and Balin are dear friends of our family. Dwalin, this is Deorynn." The warrior clapped the girl on the shoulder in greeting, and she smiled tentatively. Quickly, Kíli ran through the rest of the names for her benefit, as she visibly struggled to remember them all. "Don't worry," he laughed. "You'll learn them soon enough."

They sat, and Gloin, wasting no time, asked the girl pointedly, "So girl. What exactly are you? We've been trying to figure it out, but you don't look like any dwarf lass to me."

Deorynn blushed, but met his gaze squarely and said loudly, "My mother was a dwarf of Erebor, my father a man of Rohan. Apparently, I inherited my mother's height, but not her beard, slight though it was."

The reaction to her announcement was as varied as it was entertaining, for Kíli. Ori fell out of his chair. Oín (who had his trumpet to his ear, and so heard the entire exchange) and Gloin practically squawked in indignation, while Bofur just started laughing. Bifur looked surprised, and signed something to his brother in Iglishmêk. While Bofur thought how to answer him, Deorynn spoke up. "No Master Bifur, I'm not ashamed of it, any more than you are ashamed of the circumstances of your own birth. I've done enough to be ashamed of on my own that I need not add to the list something which was no fault of mine; indeed, which is really no fault at all. It's just where I came from."

Bifur signed to her this time.

_You know Iglishmêk?_

_Aye_, she signed back_. And Khuzdul as well. I'm no barbarian._

He grinned_. Clearly. Forgive me, my lady._

_There is nothing to forgive. May we be friends?_

_Aye. _

The exchange had been watched by Kíli, Bofur, and Bombur, who all laughed heartily.

The ice was well and truly broken.

* * *

Deorynn broke away from the group a couple of hours later. She needed some quiet; they were a bit overwhelming all together, though she anticipated she'd like them all very much as she learned more. Even perhaps Gloin, if he ever gave her a chance; he and his brother had very deliberately refused to acknowledge her presence since she'd told them who she was, and a couple of the others had followed their example, albeit less pointedly.

Anyway, she wanted to explore this place.

It was truly beautiful, she thought as she wandered aimlessly outside. Soft, in a way very little of her life had been, graceful and intrinsically _good_. Smiling, she settled down in the middle of a small footbridge which ran over a brook that danced and fell over the rocks; the sound was merry and nearly musical. Divesting herself of her boots and stockings, she dangled her feet over the edge and into the cool water, almost giggling at the sensation. She leaned back on her hands, giving her ribs a bit of a break—they were feeling rather achy—and letting the sun bathe her face in its gentle warmth.

Yes, she decided. She could get used to this.

"It's a lovely place, is it not?" a voice startled her out of her reverie. She jumped, instinctively reaching for her daggers, then stopping as soon as she registered who was speaking.

It was the Shireling. His unruly hair curled over his forehead and stopped just above kindly blue eyes, which were currently sparkling with mirth, like a child who'd just pulled a prank and was quite proud of how it had turned out. Her lips curled into a grin, and she answered him. "Indeed, I've never seen its equal, and I've done a fair amount of traveling."

The hobbit motioned to the bridge beside her. "May I join you?" She nodded, and he sat. "I hear you've done quite a lot of traveling. Fíli and Kíli told us who you are—_Lelaenil_."

The girl sobered a bit. "Yes. Yes, I've done a lot of traveling. But please, call me Deorynn. Lelaenil is just a title others have given me. The orcs call me Mangath, did you know?" she looked amused. "It means 'phantom'. Apparently I'm quite terrifying to them. Which, let me tell you," she leaned close, as if sharing a secret, "does wonders for a girl's confidence."

The hobbit laughed out loud at that, then extended his hand. "I am Bilbo Baggins."

She shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Baggins."

"Please," he said, "call me Bilbo."

Deorynn nodded. "So, if you don't mind my asking; what _are_ you doing with a group of thirteen dwarves and a wizard?"

Bilbo laughed again. "That, my dear, is a story I'm not sure I'm allowed to tell you in full. However, I shall be most happy to share with you the story of how I _met_ my obnoxious companions." And he launched into a tale that started with a fish dinner for one and ended with Fíli handing out ales while walking on top of the dining room table—by the time he was finished, Deorynn's ribs hurt rather badly from laughing.

Kíli found them on the bridge a couple of hours later when he came looking to tell them supper was prepared, and they continued chattering to one another like old friends as they walked together to the Dining Hall.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, of course. A girl can dream, though.

A/N: The mention of herbs used for healing in this chapter was based only on super-quick google searches—while they are all real herbs used for healing even today, the interaction between herbs, side effects of them (if any), and their uses are not well-researched and therefore should not be used in real life! O.O

This chapter is a bit shorter; but I wanted to post tonight and writer's block has begun to make an appearance. Promise the next one will be longer!

* * *

"These ribs are looking much improved," Cirryn murmured as her fingers probed at Deorynn's torso. "And the bruises are fading quickly." The girl smiled, "Whatever herbs you all used on them must be potent indeed. I had no pain at all when I prepared for the day this morning." Cirryn nodded. "It's the combination of bromelain and arnica that does it. Most people use them separately because they're from completely different parts of the world—but if you can get them together in the same salve or tincture, they're exceptionally effective and speed healing." Deorynn listened raptly; she had already decided that part of her time here in Rivendell would be spent learning everything their healers were willing to teach her, and perhaps mixing up some new medicines to sell or keep in her pack.

Re-acquiring supplies had been on her mind since she'd gone to bed the night before, after a loud and amusing evening with the dwarves and Bilbo. Lord Elrond had done so much for her by getting back her weapons and taking care of them—she had no intention of allowing him to replace the rest of her gear too. She would ask for permission to harvest herbs from the valley, perhaps go hunting in a few days to get some hides and meat to sell; elves weren't very keen on meat, but Rivendell was something of an oasis, and the place was seldom wanting for visitors who might be interested in buying it. Once she had some coin, it would be a simple matter to buy new gear.

Of course, the thought of hunting brought up the real reason she had hurried into the Healing Houses at so early an hour:

"Cirryn," she began. "I'd like to work with my weapons today. May I?"

A ghost of a frown crossed the elf's fair face, and Deorynn hurried to assure her, "I'll be careful! If there's too much pain, I'll stop. I just…need to get back to fighting and traveling form. Plus the dwarves promised to teach me some new combat techniques, and I don't know how long they'll be here." She smiled at the memory of the conversation the night before.

Fíli, Kíli, and Ori had been duly interested in her weapons, and she found herself explaining the runes on the throwing knives once again—this time to a slightly larger audience, as Dwalin, Balin, and she suspected even Thorin were listening—which had led to a discussion of her fighting style and how she managed multiple enemies at once. "Truly," Deorynn had explained, "I try to avoid engaging multiple enemies in close quarters. I can easily do it from afar, but up close, well….let's just say two daggers are difficult to pit against two or more swords." Gloin had muttered something about cowardice, but Dwalin had spoken up louder. "Lassie. Perhaps we could help." Kíli's eyes had lit up at that. "That's a wonderful idea! Deorynn, he taught Fíli and me everything we know. If anyone can help you, it's Dwalin!" Unable to hide her own enthusiasm, Deorynn had agreed to train with the older dwarf as soon as she was cleared by the healers to spar.

Which had led to her seeking out Cirryn that morning, hoping for the best. The healer was still frowning slightly, but she nodded and replied, "You _must_ stop if there is pain. Tell your sparring partner no torso strikes. And you cannot pull your bow just yet; you have to stick to the daggers and throwing knives for a few more days." Deorynn's face fell just slightly, but she didn't dare fuss—she'd been given half of what she wanted, and that was much better than nothing.

"Thank you!" she jumped off the bed and hurried through the door, calling back for good measure, "I'll be careful!"

* * *

After breakfast, she stood with Dwalin on the training grounds. The other dwarves were already working with their own weapons, which was good, because having them all watch her would have just made her nervous. Dwalin studied her daggers closely, then asked her to assume a fighting stance and studied that.

Suddenly, without warning, the large dwarf charged the girl with his axe and a ringing battle cry. Her eyes barely had time to widen before he was on her, and she ducked under his swing, coming up on his left and swinging about quickly, dropping to her knees to avoid the horizontal blow he had pivoted into. He granted her an opening a moment later as he raised his axe high over his head for a vertical stroke intended, in a real battle, to cut her in half from crown to belly. Growling, Deorynn decided to bring the fight closer than his axe would allow; she pushed herself up nearly into his chest, and crossed the daggers at his throat. There was a beat, and then he smiled. "Good, lassie, but that trick will only work once with the same foe."

Her grin was fierce. "I only need it to work once."

He answered her with a feral smile of his own before attacking her again. For several minutes, she danced around, avoiding his blows but also not scoring any of her own. The fact did not bother her at first; she needed only one opening. Unfortunately, her technique worked best if an enemy was dispatched quickly; and he wasn't giving her another opening to end this. She began to tire, her reactions slowing as the minutes passed. Sweat coursed down her face, and her ribs began to sting with her breathing; her promise to Cirryn was forgotten, however, as she refused to give him the satisfaction of wearing her down until she quit. In desperation, she tried for a questionable opening as he stabbed toward her. Shifting his weight to one foot at the same time he let go of the axe with one hand, he turned. His free hand gripped her opposite shoulder as his foot swept the back of her knee; he turned her about as she fell, grabbing one of her daggers from a stunned grip and bringing it to her own throat as she ended up on her knees.

She was surprised to hear laughter and applause around them. With a blush, she realized their match had attracted the attention of most of the dwarves and even a few of the elves using the training grounds. She dropped her gaze, feeling ashamed they had all seen her get so thoroughly whipped; but Dwalin was squeezing her shoulder, and his eyes were laughing when she looked up. "You did well, lass," he murmured. "Fíli and Kíli, though they'd have you believe otherwise, wouldn't have lasted that long with only daggers until just recently." She smiled, eyeing the duo in question as they cheered loudly.

Dwalin spent the next two hours correcting Deorynn's form (her lack of formal training was evident in this portion of the lesson) and teaching her to block, rather than just avoid, her enemy's attacks. By the time he called a halt, she was shaking and sweating. Bilbo, who had been watching after his own lesson with his new elvish blade, handed her a bowl of water as she stumbled to the short bench.

"You do realize you're utterly terrifying, right?" he smiled as she caught her breath. Deorynn looked at him askance. "What?"

"I saw that first match a couple hours ago. I've never in my life seen a maiden fight like that." Bilbo answered. "And that was before Mister Dwalin worked with you for two hours! You're going to be unstoppable soon enough."

Deorynn laughed at his exaggeration. "Well, they're skills that will certainly come in handy on the road, there's no denying that. I've always thought I was lucky to be able to avoid multiple-enemy confrontations, for the most part. Truth is, I'd probably be dead already if I hadn't."

Bilbo patted her shoulder. "Dwalin will cure you of it yet, my friend. Pity the poor orcs who get in your way once he's through with you."

She gave him a smile as she finished her water, choosing to marvel at his reference to her as his "friend" later. "Thanks, Bilbo. Now, I'm off to practice with my knives—something I'm actually good at. Care to have a go?"

Bilbo put up his hands in a gesture that clearly communicated he would not be throwing knives today. "Oh no," he said earnestly. "I'm having enough trouble learning to use a sword—that is quite enough weapon's training for me, thank you. Although I'd be pleased to watch you, if you do not mind?"

"Of course, come on."

They walked together over to the ranged targets, passing Kíli on the way and snagging him and Fíli for a blade-throwing contest (Fíli's idea, of course, he was quite good with throwing knives himself).

After selecting their target, Deorynn turned to the brothers. "Shall we use my blades, or do you two wish to use your own?" Kíli shook his head. "I don't have throwing knives, let's just use yours." She smiled. "Very well. Three apiece, do you think? Here, remember which knives you get by the runes on the blade."

Bilbo backed up a bit as all three dwarves started spinning the blades in their hands, testing their weight and grip, readying themselves. Deorynn smirked, "Who'd like to go first?"

Kíli and Fíli both agreed she ought to go first, as a "lady," so Deorynn settled into a stance, spun Wisdom once in her hand, and let fly. The blade flew straight and true into the red circle. She scowled—she had struggled to get the feel of that one, apparently her muscles hadn't quite got over their recent abuse—and stepped aside to let Kíli throw. He smiled and stepped up, tossing his knife carefully; it hit the blue circle. He made a face as Fíli moved to throw, and Deorynn laughed. Fíli's knife buried itself hilt-deep in the red circle, just outside the yellow.

The next round yielded similar results—both she and Fíli scored in the yellow, and Kíli's second blade made the red circle. Deorynn lined up her last shot, throwing from her knees this time, like she had when rescuing the "travelers" a week or so prior. Fíli whistled; it was a hard position to throw from, as there was less support from the sturdy lower body. That position also gave him an advantage over her, as he had better upper body strength.

He blinked as Justice sliced through the air and buried itself to the hilt dead in the center of the target. Kíli laughed at his brother's look of shock, and threw his own knife from his knees; the shot went too wide, and landed in the black, though it still hit the target. Kíli smirked at Fíli, "Go on, nadad, show the Lady how it's done." Bilbo even snickered at that, though Deorynn smiled kindly at him. "It's easier to pretend I'm in combat from that position," she explained.

Fíli got to his knees, as was fair, and threw a powerful shot—which landed just left of center; close enough the blades were nearly touching. Bilbo cheered, as did Kíli, and they all approached the target to inspect the blades and see who won. Kíli was immediately awarded third place in the contest, and he bowed as he handed Deorynn back her knives. Fíli had scored two in the yellow, one in the red—as had Deorynn. However, it was determined by both Bilbo and Kíli that her two yellow targets—including the bullseye shot—had been closer to exact center, and Deorynn was declared the winner by a slim margin.

Deorynn worried briefly that Fíli would be offended, but relaxed when he cheered as loudly as his brother, and they both threw their arms round her shoulders as they walked back to join the others. After a split second of tension, Deorynn seemed to relax and enjoy the friendly contact.

* * *

Dinner that night was a noisy affair, as Deorynn was learning was pretty typical of dwarves, but she didn't mind. Ori, who seemed abnormally shy, had taken a particular shine to the girl; and she was more than happy to answer all his questions about her travels. She seldom had fewer than four or five listening as she talked, though; which surprised her. Somehow the idea of people—any people who knew what she was—wanting to hear what she had to say was….unfamiliar, to say the least. To be honest, it made her wonder when the inevitable betrayal would show itself.

_They won't betray me,_ her heart argued_. Fíli? Kíli? Bilbo? They wouldn't. Ori? Certainly never._

It was a line of thought she didn't allow to go any further. They would be going their own way soon, as would she. Thorin was a king, whether or not he'd fully come into the title as of yet; Fíli and Kíli were princes. This brief intermission in Rivendell would end soon enough, and they would all very soon forget her; debt or no. Oín, Gloin, and some of the others would be happy to be rid of her, evidently, and even Ori and Bilbo would doubtless move along without so much as a second thought.

_That is how this works. Do not become foolishly attached, Deorynn._

She snapped back to the present when someone nudged her gently. She looked over at Kíli, who murmured, "are you well?" Deorynn nodded, too quickly. He smiled, but didn't seem convinced as he turned back to the conversation.

Turning away, toward Ori, Deorynn forced a smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Disclaimer: Tolkien is the genius; I'm just playing in his sandbox.

A/N: Arrrr, mateys, there be fluffy bonding ahead!

* * *

"_Kíli, help me!" The shout cut through the noise of battle around him and caused him to spin round madly, looking for its source. _

"_Uncle? Uncle, where are you?"_

"_Over here, Kíli, hurry!" he heard from his left. He turned to see Thorin beset upon by six of the ugliest, biggest orcs he had ever seen. He darted toward him quickly, but stopped when his gaze landed on a golden head a few feet away; Fíli was battling the chiefest of the orcs himself. But something was wrong; his brother wasn't using one of his swords, his left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Blood streamed from a head wound that was clearly making the young heir dizzy and interrupting his focus, and with a cry, the Chief Orc kicked his brother in the chest, sending him toppling and skidding backward. _

_Kíli screamed as he changed direction, his only focus being his brother. Again, the voice cut through his rage:_

"_Kíli! I need you!"_

_He didn't hesitate—there was no time—but he did look up in time to see one of the orcs drive its spear deep into his uncle's chest._

_Kíli choked, and his legs gave, sending him sprawling in the dirt. _

_No._

_**No.**__ It could not be._

_He tore his gaze from his uncle to focus on Fíli again; he had to reach his brother before he went to meet their Uncle in the Halls of Mandos before his time. A choked whimper escaped his throat as he stumbled to his feet. The Chief Orc was closing in on Fíli, who seemed to be having trouble staying conscious and was scooting backward as fast as his arm would allow. A smile crossed the disgusting creature's face, and it lifted its crude sword high over its head, ready to run his brother through._

_He wasn't close enough, he'd never make it._

_He put on a burst of speed, but his legs were mired in bloody mud that had come from nowhere. He couldn't move._

_He watched the blade come down, saw Fíli's feeble attempt to block it, saw…._

"No!" he shouted as he woke with a start, trembling and sweating. Fíli stirred beside him, his arm instinctively snaking round Kíli's ribs and pulling him close. "It's okay, nadadith," he murmured sleepily. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep."

Kíli lay catching his breath, allowing himself to stay in his elder brother's arms, pressing his ear to Fíli's chest to listen to his heart beat steadily, hoping it would lull him back into sleep as it normally did when the nightmares came to play.

It did not.

Kíli sighed and gently disentangled himself from his brother's grip. Despite his unease, he grinned a little at the sight Fíli made; hair completely askew, tumbling over the pillow and his own face, a bit of it rising and falling with his deep breaths. Kíli reached over and pushed the hair out of his brother's face tenderly, then dressed silently and left the room. Perhaps some fresh air would do him good.

It was early; just before dawn. The gray light of morning would soon give way to gold and pink, judging by the clouds. The birds were already singing cheerfully, and a few elves were up and about, some smiling and calling greetings as he walked by. He responded with a smile for each one; something he would probably not have done seven days ago. Of course, seven days ago, elves had not yet sheltered him and his friends, giving them a respite they sorely needed before the rest of this long journey. Seven days ago, they had not yet rendered aid to his new friend when she collapsed after being tortured by orcs.

Seven days ago, he had no reason to smile at an elf. But much had changed in a week.

His reverie was interrupted as he suddenly noticed a figure he recognized.

Deorynn was walking along ahead of him; quickly and purposefully. She had her bow and quiver slung over her cape, and he suspected her knives were strapped to her belt beneath it. He cocked his head, wondering what she was doing out here this early with weapons—and not headed for the training grounds, if his sense of direction did not deceive him. _And_ with her bow to boot; she'd only begun using it again the day before.

He briefly considered just following her and staying out of sight, until he remembered the very thorough lashing he'd received during a survival game with her, Fíli, and Ori the day before. The game had involved two teams—he and Fíli versus Deorynn and Ori—each one with a pennant to protect. The goal of the game was to acquire the other team's pennant and bring it back to your own—but also not to lose your pennant at the same time. While Fíli had tried to overcome Ori, who'd been left to protect his team pennant, with sheer power; Deorynn had taken a different tack with Kíli's pennant. She had snuck around, staying out of sight in the trees. Even though he'd been watching for her, he hadn't expected the knife that landed point down in the dirt at his feet—not nearly close enough to hurt him, just close enough to bait him. Scowling, he'd charged into the undergrowth to confront her, remembering that hand-to-hand combat was not her forte; but by the time he reached where the knife had come from, she was gone.

Or so he had thought.

He learned the hard way to look up into the trees as well as around the ground, when she dropped from a branch overhead and had him tied up faster than he imagined possible. With Kíli out of commission and Fíli distracted by Ori, Deorynn had stolen their pennant and made her way back to her own. And though Fíli put up a good fight once she got there, the day had gone to Deorynn and Ori; a fate made worse by the fact that even his dear brother couldn't help but laugh when they all trooped over to untie Kíli.

_Traitor._

Regardless, Kíli decided sneaking up on anyone who could so easily dispatch him if she desired was probably not a good way to retain all his body parts, not to mention his dignity, so he called out loudly, "Going somewhere?"

The girl turned and regarded him with a coy smile that made something in his chest hitch. "Perhaps."

Intrigued, he followed her out of Rivendell and into the valley. She looked at the sky, then broke into a gentle trot, bearing a bit west, headed up the ridge. Once they reached about three-quarters of the way to the top, she picked a rocky outcropping and sat down facing east, pulling her bow and quiver over her head and setting them at her side, smiling as he caught up and patting the rock next to her. He sat as well; finally figuring out what she was doing up here.

The sun had not yet risen over the Misty Mountains, but the light said it was only just below them now. The clouds, as he expected, had exploded in a riot of color—gold and pink and purple splashed across a jewel-blue sky, reflecting off the snow-capped peaks and turning the mountains a magnificent cobalt. The birdsong and cool morning air only added to the effect, and Kíli had to smile; early morning was his favorite time of day.

Deorynn pulled a sealed mug from somewhere and passed it to him after taking a sip. There was coffee inside, strong and sweet, the smell adding to the perfection of the moment. Reflecting Kíli's own sentiments, Deorynn leaned back on her elbows and sighed in bliss. "I love sunrises," she murmured quietly, as if afraid speaking would shatter the euphoria, "everything is so fresh and new and ready to begin a new day. Not to mention the _colors_. Mahal's beard, the colors are gorgeous."

Kíli laughed lightly. "Indeed they are. It's like the whole world is thrilled to be alive."

"Exactly."

They watched in silence then, as the light grew stronger and the first bright rays of the sun peeked over the mountains, blinding and warm. Deorynn closed her eyes and let the heat bathe her face, relishing this moment; lazily surprised at how happy she was Kíli was there with her. It wasn't as if she couldn't enjoy a sunrise on her own, but having him beside her seemed to only add to her enjoyment of it; a phenomenon she found confusing and didn't care to explore too deeply at the moment.

For now, she simply let the sun on her face and the company of her friend fill her with joy.

"Hey, Deorynn?" Kíli's voice came softly, and she smiled when she saw his face in the morning light.

"Yes?"

"Where is home for you?"

Her heart hitched with an old pain, but she smiled nevertheless. "Home? I suppose it's…everywhere."

Kíli scowled a bit, "That is simply another way of saying you have none." His frown deepened, but morphed into one more of concern than irritation. "Truly, Deorynn? There is nowhere in all of Arda that you…_belong_?"

She fought the momentary onslaught of unpleasant emotions _that_ question generated. Anger, bitterness, frustration—_why did he have to ask such things, anyway?—_fear, rejection. Carefully schooling her features, she met his eyes and replied without emotion:

"No."

His face crumpled, and she felt almost guilty. Well. He _had_ asked. But she hastened to explain; for some reason it was important he understand. "No, there is nowhere, geographically, that I belong. But it is not as bad as it sounds. I have made a place for myself, in spite of everything, and I am quite happy with it. Besides, it's a decent lifestyle, you know; I can go where I please, have no worries at all regarding material goods—other than my weapons—and never have to deal with rude neighbors sticking their nose in my business." She gave him a small smile, hoping to relieve his discomfort. "It's not a bad life, Kíli."

He didn't look convinced. "Forgive me, but isn't it rather….lonely?"

It would have been easier to answer if he hadn't been so…_right_. "Sometimes," she answered quietly. "But there are worse things than loneliness."

"Yes," he muttered. "Outright rejection." He said it with such conviction that she stared at him, baffled.

"Indeed. You speak as if from experience."

Now it was his turn to look pained. "Let's just say Fíli has always been the more…_acceptable_ of Dis' sons. In pretty much every way."

Deorynn looked completely bewildered. "What?"

He sighed. "You know, he's the consummate dwarf; excels in melees with blades, is exceptionally good in the forge, loves metal and stone and earth, has the whole impressive beard-and-moustache thing going on." Deorynn was beginning to see his point, and she didn't like it at all.

"But you're…not? The 'consummate dwarf', I mean?

He averted his gaze, but not before she saw the flash of shame, and kicked herself for it. Hard. "Not by any means," he replied. "I'm better with a bow, love being outside, am useless in the forge—I'm much better with detail work; leatherworking, etching, carving—and can't even grow a proper beard." He shrugged when she just stared at him, disbelieving. "Believe me; I've had plenty of time to accept it."

Knowing the exact pain of which he spoke did nothing to make Deorynn feel better. She never imagined a Son of Durin would have to endure a similar rejection as she did; it heated her blood and made her want to fight something. Instead, she placed her arm around Kíli and squeezed his shoulder. "Well, for whatever it's worth coming from a _bindâd_ like me, I think you're a fine dwarf. Loyal and true, strong in ways others cannot understand, and handsome to boot."

Kíli barely noticed the compliment. "Please don't ever call yourself that again."

She smiled and shrugged. "I've been called worse."

Kíli shook his head. "Not by me; not before and not ever. Please. Don't say it again. Strictly true or not, _bindâd_ is not a word that should be used to describe you. You're so much more than just an orphan who never knew her father."

"And you're so much more than a dwarf without a 'proper' beard," she replied with a smile. She squeezed his shoulder, and they sat there until the sun shone fully on the valley.

* * *

Deorynn returned to Rivendell late that afternoon, hauling quite a good amount of meat and hide to sell. She gave the elves of that valley the first crack at her goods—they bought all the hide—and then brought the meat to Balin, who happily paid her more than fairly for it. She tried to refuse the excess, but he wouldn't have it, stating that Bombur's joy over having meat to cook was well worth the extra coin. Smiling, the girl made her way to the vendors that did business in Rivendell, intending to get some new clothes and a new pack.

She heard Oin's loud protestations before she saw him, trying to communicate with a tall elf, both of them growing angrier by the minute. "We do not sell that, Master Dwarf!" the elf was nearly shouting into Oin's ear trumpet, which made him jump back in alarm that quickly became indignance. "All right, all right lad! No need to shout; I'm hard of hearing, not deaf!" Deorynn reached them just then, and took Oin's elbow firmly. "Master Oin, is there something I can assist you with?"

He saw her and his eyes hardened. "Nothing at all, lass. Now if you please," and he yanked his arm away. The girl stood firmly, noting the vendor he'd been arguing with. She favored the older dwarf with a small smile, resisting the urge to deliberately needle him, as she often did when faced with blind racism.

"Oin, what were you looking to buy?" she asked kindly. "I often make salves and teas and whatnot, if there's a particular kind you need. I would be happy to make some for you, if the herbs you seek are available here."

Oin seemed to fight with himself momentarily, eventually deciding that the necessity for good medicines was worth more than his prejudice. "I'm looking for a simple willow bark salve," he growled. "Ruddy elf won't sell me any, though it's so common I _know_ he must have some."

Deorynn smiled genuinely this time. "Well then, it's his loss, isn't it? I can easily make up a batch for you within the next couple of days. I saw some willows while I was out hunting today; I'll go back out tomorrow and get some."

Oin looked at the young woman before him and nodded gruffly. "See that you do, girl. I'll pay you fairly, of course." She nodded. "Is that all you need? I can also see about making a cream of the same herbs the healers used on my bruises and cracked ribs; it's a pretty potent combination and might come in handy on the road."

Oin nodded. "Do what you can."

He turned away brusquely, and Deorynn grinned.

She couldn't help but feel she'd won a small victory.

* * *

Bilbo wandered the garden path, headed toward his favorite footbridge—the one where he'd met Deorynn, incidentally. He grinned when it came into sight and she was already there, a brand new leather pack sitting beside her.

Apparently her day's business had been productive.

"Had a good hunt, did you?" he nearly laughed as she jumped again. Apparently Gandalf was right; he often startled dwarves without meaning to, and it seemed to fit the wizard's declaration that hobbits could easily pass unseen when they wished.

"_Mahal,_ Bilbo, do you have to do that every time?" she practically growled, without any real heat.

At that, he did laugh. "Sorry, my lady."

She stuck her tongue out at him—Lady, indeed—and motioned to him to sit. "To answer your question, it was a _very_ good day. Got to watch the sunrise with Kíli this morning, killed a buck and four rabbits—which you'll be seeing in your stew soon, doubtless—and maybe even took a step toward winning Oin over with my promise of medicines. Some of the elves won't sell to him." She rolled her eyes. "Really, the vast majority of the racial tension between elves and dwarves is completely childish."

Bilbo had never really considered it, though he supposed she was right. "Hobbits generally don't have the same sort of prejudices," he said. "Ours are more prejudices against actions than bloodlines. Usually."

Deorynn cocked her head. "How do you mean?"

"Well," the hobbit replied. "For instance, my running off on an adventure with dwarves and wizards will generate more ire at Bag-End than a troop of dwarves passing through. Hobbits don't care what race you are, and they don't judge other races by the same standards they judge themselves: it's expected for Men, Elves, and Dwarves to fight and quest and adventure. But anyone from the Shire that behaves in any way out of the ordinary is judged pretty harshly. Although," he added as an aside, "we're unlikely to kick you out of town even if you ARE judged an _adventurer_ and an improper, sorry excuse for a Hobbit."

Deorynn laughed out loud. "Well. All I can say is, if there are many more like you there, I can see why Gandalf likes Shirelings so well. I must admit my time in the Shire has been limited, but you all seem like happy, gentle people to me. Everything seems much simpler there."

Bilbo looked thoughtful and nodded slowly. "Simpler. Yes, that it is." Then his face lit. "Have you even met Gandalf yet? He's been a bit scarce of late, what with meeting with Lord Elrond so much the last week."

"Ah, yes, I have. I had the pleasure of speaking with him day before yesterday; ran into him in the library. He's…a fascinating character," Deorynn smiled. "He was exceptionally kind to me, though, so I can't really complain."

Bilbo snorted. "Yes, he is kind. Also mischievous enough to put Kíli to shame, with a temper that can put Thorin's to shame, and a tactfully manipulative streak that would put an Elf to shame."

Deorynn laughed again, "I can see that being the case with him."

"Indeed." A deep, amused voice sounded behind them both. "I think that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said about me, Bilbo Baggins."

* * *

*_bindâd_: literally, "without father." Similar insult to "bastard"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Disclaimer: Everything is Tolkien's! Except Deorynn. He can't have her. I like her too much.

A/N_: "It is the deep breath before the plunge."_

* * *

Deorynn stood, turning within a tight circle of enemies, winging a silent prayer to Aulë that this would end in her favor. She quieted her breathing with some difficulty; she was nearing exhaustion, her arms and knees shaking, her mind becoming more easily distracted. Her eyes darted between the four in front of her, looking for any sign of movement; her ears straining to hear anything from the two behind her. She felt, rather than saw, one of the ones behind her move first; and she turned, sidestepping his blow smoothly before bringing her daggers up to interrupt his swing for her head. Shoving her blades along his, toward the hilt of his sword, she pushed it up and away from her face, using her forward momentum to kick his feet out from under him and crossing the daggers at his throat. No time to thrill over her small victory, she murmured "dead" and turned back barely in time to duck below a long-handled mace that could've easily taken her head off. She dispatched the mace's owner within a few seconds, but now she had two opponents at the same time—the one that had originally been on her left, and the other one that had been behind her. She was able to hold them off for a few minutes, until she found herself sandwiched between them with a sword coming down on her left and an axe swinging for her ribs on the right. Knowing how quickly that would end things, Deorynn dropped and rolled out from between them—that had been an impossible position to fight from, and _entirely_ too close a call—coming to her feet only to find a sword resting on her collarbone. Fíli smiled.

"Dead."

"_Caragu rukhs!" _Deorynn cried, sheathing her daggers as Kíli and Nori rose from where she'd left them on the ground. Kíli laughed at her curse and clapped her on the back. "Come now, Deorynn, you did well."

She growled. "I died. _Again_."

"You've only been training to actually _engage_ multiple opponents for a few days, lass," Dwalin answered, completely nonplussed by the dark mood three hours of being "killed" had wrought on the girl. She huffed, knowing he was right but still supremely frustrated by the entire exercise. She had, within two days of starting training with Dwalin, reached a point where she could easily defeat one opponent, so he'd moved to two at a time. She had only just managed to sometimes survive those encounters before he started using five, often six, dwarves to simulate fighting in an actual battle—or in her case, defending herself against multiple orcs up close and personal.

What she didn't think of, but Dwalin knew, was that in spite of her constant failure to beat all her opponents, she was improving. Each battle lasted slightly longer, involved more ingenuity on her part, had the dwarves holding back _less_ as she grew stronger, faster, and smarter in her attacks and blocks. She was doing well. She couldn't see it, but she was.

"That's enough for today," Dwalin called, sensing her simmering annoyance and knowing more punishment would do her little good at this point. Unable to go too easy on her, though, he gave her a wicked little smile, "See you back here tomorrow, then, girl."

Deorynn waited until he turned and began to walk away before moaning and limping toward the bench. Of course, her trainer never allowed her to be struck with weapons in any way that would truly hurt her, but that didn't stop them sometimes using the flats of their blades during strikes, and it certainly didn't stop her from feeling the blocks, falls, and disarming moves they often employed. Everything _hurt_.

Fíli plopped down beside her and Kíli stood next to him, both brothers grinning annoyingly at her.

"What?" she groused.

"You know you're actually improving," Fíli said, still smiling. She glared. "No, seriously. I'm not holding back as much as I was a few days ago."

Her eyes chilled. "Holding back, are you?"

Fíli's smile wavered. Well. _That_ obviously hadn't helped. He backtracked. "Uh, only a bit. You know, in light of your lack of formal—"

"—Fee, I don't think that's helping," Kíli interrupted him, looking with some concern at the rigid form of their friend.

Deorynn stood slowly, her eyes never leaving Fíli's. "You want to see holding back?" He rose, stepping away. "I'll show you holding back! Heir of Durin or not, you'd better run, Master Fíli!"

He ran.

And she chased. Fíli was fast, but he was also heavier, and she caught him after less than a minute, roaring in triumph as she tackled him. Jumping up quickly, she punched his arm, laughing, "You're it!"

Fíli chased after her, but she ducked between the training dummies (thank Mahal the grounds were empty this late in the afternoon), taunting him. Evidently deciding his quarry was too good for him to catch on his own, Fíli grabbed his brother's arm. "Kíli! No, no, you're not it, relax! Well…no more than I am. Let's team up, eh?"

Kíli looked offended, crying loudly enough for Deorynn to hear, "Brother, are you proposing we team up; two strong, male dwarfs against a poor defenseless lassie? A completely dishonorable plan that involves…cheating?"

Fíli cottoned on to his game and raised his voice to answer, "That is exactly what I propose, brother mine."

Kíli grinned and answered, "I like it," just as Deorynn's voice called balefully over the grounds, "Who are you calling defenseless, shortie?" The brothers looked at her, grinning madly.

_Oops._

And with that, the chase was on again. Deorynn took off, yelping as her muscles groaned in protest. Well, she was in for it now. Their merry chase lasted several minutes, until the brothers split up and cornered her against a wall. She took a second to catch her breath as they stalked toward her, certain of their victory.

_Ah, overconfidence, the bane of young warriors everywhere._

Feinting toward Fíli, Deorynn changed direction and ducked out from under Kíli's reach, taking off again. Fíli threw his hands in the air and began merely jogging; Kíli, however, was not about to give up and dashed after her, shouting indignantly. She began to laugh too hard to run properly, and with a shriek, she went down, Kíli's arms about her waist.

Still laughing, she fought, trying to lever herself over him; with the result that they rolled a few times before Kíli caught her wrists and pinned her to the ground decisively. She quieted a heartbeat later when their eyes met and her nerves belatedly registered the sensation of his weight atop her. Her heart stuttered and a thrill jolted up her spine, whether of terror or…something else…she could not say. She forced a laugh and shoved him off, muttering, "Okay, okay, you win."

He grinned cheekily, and she didn't notice the slight flush on his cheeks. "What was that, my lady? Could you repeat yourself?"

Deorynn cuffed him affectionately on the head as she got to her feet, dusting off her leggings. "Oi…should not have run off after Fíli in the first place; now I'm sorer than before."

The dwarf in question finally ambled up to them, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders once he saw the game was over. "Well, Kíli, it looks as though our cheating methods have worked in our favor this time."

Deorynn elbowed him in the ribs.

* * *

Walking back, Fíli noticed there seemed to be a lot of activity about the halls, and he commented on it when they got back to the common area the dwarves had appropriated nigh on two weeks ago.

Nori answered. "It's Midsummer's Eve, where have you been?"

Fíli stopped, "Is it really? Already?"

Kíli laughed. "So what exactly do elves do to celebrate Midsummer's Eve? There's a whole lot of bustle out there."

The older dwarf shrugged and adopted a mischievous grin. "I have no idea, but we are going to have ourselves a party of our very own."

Nori was as good as his word. Bombur cooked up some of Deorynn's venison, and it was perfectly seasoned—a fact that was enthusiastically shouted by nearly every dwarf there, along with jokes about seasoning and trolls that had the dwarf maid looking mystified. Fíli laughed, and he and Kíli regaled her with the tale of the night before they had met again—which of course led to more stories, and soon enough, the dwarves were thoroughly entertaining one another with tales that seemed to grow wilder with each ale consumed.

The troll tale, though, had brought to Deorynn's attention the absence of her favorite hobbit. She excused herself and meandered out to the balcony to find him.

He was in the garden below.

The girl caught up with him and nudged him on the elbow—for once, being the one to startle him instead of the other way round.

"What are you doing out here? They're exalting your cleverness in there," she said.

Bilbo hesitated, and then looked away from her, studying a rose on the trellis in front of him. "I shan't be missed."

"_I_ missed you."

He stopped, then looked up at her. "You know, you are one of the kindest people I've ever met. Which strikes me as odd, since you've had little enough of it directed at you in your lifetime."

She smiled, a little sadly. "It's the things we have the least of that we appreciate the most, Bilbo. Besides," she slapped him on the back. "I wasn't being _kind_, I was being honest. Come inside with me. Let's celebrate the joy of summer together."

Bilbo quirked a grin at her. "Well, I suppose if you're going to insist…."

When they walked, laughing, back into the common area, Bilbo nearly dropped his drink and Deorynn had to take a minute to absorb the scene before her.

The dwarves had pulled instruments out of…wherever they kept them, Deorynn had no idea….and were playing an excited tune that quickly got inside her feet and made her itch to dance. There was a fiddle, and a pipe, a little lyre; and of course, their feet and hands took up the rhythm. Those who weren't playing already were dancing, and Bofur was singing—something about a maiden in a red dress, she couldn't understand him over all the shouting.

But the _music_!

She laughed out loud and grabbed Bilbo's hand. "Come on! Dance with me, Master Hobbit!"

Bilbo tried to protest, but Deorynn wasn't hearing it. She led him to the merry group and let her feet go. For the next hour, she spun, stomped, leapt, and hopped; all her cares fading in the face of sheer delight, celebrating with friends the thrill of simply being alive.

* * *

Later, after her knees had collapsed and her ribs ached from laughing and breathless singing, Deorynn walked with Kíli toward her room; he had insisted on escorting her there, "as was befitting a prince and a proper lass" he said, much to her amusement. Except there was little proper about it, as he was quite under the influence of the ale and was hanging on her shoulder, singing some lewd tune rather loudly. _And badly_, Deorynn added in her head, supremely entertained by his antics. When they reached her door, he stopped singing and she turned to face him. The shadows played across his face, moonlight shining on his dark eyes in a way that made Deorynn want to stare forever.

He grinned at her. "Happy Midsummer's Day, Deorynn."

She thought of the evening she had just spent in the midst of excellent company, celebrating, dancing, singing; for one night, just being….normal. Whatever that meant. She threw her arms around Kíli's neck.

"Thank you for being my friend."

He laughed and patted her back. "Believe me, it's hardly a burden." He squeezed her, then pulled away. "Goodnight, Deorynn. I'll see you before sunrise?" he asked, referring to their recently-acquired habit of watching the sun greet the valley in the mornings.

She laughed. "If you're not too hung over, you certainly shall."

Deorynn stumbled into her room and changed into nightclothes. There she lay under the warm, soft blankets on her bed, thinking. Today had been an excellent day indeed, despite her earlier frustration with her training. Her joy at being able to share a holiday—with anyone, really, but especially friends—had her thinking on Thorin's company. They were an eclectic group, she'd found in the short time she'd known them. Tinkers, miners, merchants, a couple of warriors…loyal souls all, though; it didn't take an exceptional intelligence to see they were wholly committed to Thorin and his family.

But she still knew little of them beyond that, and had no idea what they were doing in Rivendell. She knew Thorin had not intended to come here, she had heard him talking to Gandalf on the ledge overlooking the valley when she first laid eyes on this beautiful place. So what exactly _was_ Thorin Oakenshield doing on the Great East Road with twelve other dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit? She examined the facts she knew. Two of the dwarves were his kin—sister-sons, one of whom was his heir. He was being hunted by Azog the Defiler, who was apparently back to claim his revenge on the exiled dwarf king. Gandalf had said something about questions they had being answered here, so he was looking for information in the valley, though what kind of information she could not say.

Perhaps he was aiming to draw Azog away from his settlement in the Blue Mountains—_Mahal_, but if she'd had a home she wouldn't want that monster anywhere near it, either!—and defeat him once and for all. That made the most sense, she supposed, though why he would bring his Heir with him on such a dangerous mission was beyond her. Perhaps this was Fíli's chance to prove himself? She shifted uncomfortably—it still seemed like quite the risk.

With a snort, she thought that _she_ was one to talk about taking risks.

But if that was their aim, her particular set of skills could be quite valuable to them; and she would be thrilled to help. She had waited nearly two weeks for Thorin to summon her—that was plenty long enough. She would ask him tomorrow if she could assist him with his quest, she decided.

She had a bone of her own to pick with Azog, anyhow.

To have a wizard on such a mission would make sense—he would be a powerful ally—though try as she might, she still could not fathom what Bilbo was doing with them. Not that she wasn't glad he was here—she'd never have met him otherwise!—but it didn't make sense from a practical point of view.

That was the last thing she remembered thinking before sleep claimed her.

* * *

*Caragu rukhs—Orc dung


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This all belongs to the incredible JRR Tolkien.

* * *

_Lady Deorynn,_

_The nature of our quest is such that we must depart in haste tonight, secretly. It is my hope that by the time you find this, we will be well on our way._

_I must ask that you remain in Rivendell until the completion of our quest, at which time I will send for you, to discuss the repayment of the debt I and my kin owe you, among other things._

_Regards,_

_Thorin Oakenshield_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Sometimes I have the feeling I should claim ownership of Middle Earth, but then I think, mmmm…better not.

A/N: Oh wow, you guys. I wanted to generate a bit of interest for this chapter with the teensy Chapter 11…but the response was overwhelming. As my readers command: here is Chapter 12. Not terribly long, but should at least resolve that evil cliffy and let you all sleep tonight. Cheers to all of you, and thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

The air left her lungs in a quiet huff, a shocked sound not unlike the one that results from a punch in the stomach—indeed, she felt as though someone _had_ punched her in the stomach.

Gone? They couldn't be gone.

_They're my friends. They wouldn't have just abandoned me without a goodbye, or an explanation, or...something._

She raced out the door and through the halls, knocking into a couple of elves on her way and not bothering to stop and apologize. She rushed to Fíli and Kíli's door and knocked, forcing herself to be calm.

There was no answer. She pounded the door again, shouting, "Kíli! Fíli! Please answer the door!"

Still no answer. Deorynn took a deep breath and shoved open the door, stumbling into the room and looking around. It was empty, cleared of all their gear, the bed neatly made.

So it was true.

They were _gone_.

And without so much as a goodbye.

Mahal's beard, why did that _hurt_ so much?

She didn't know what she had expected; it had been clear from the beginning Thorin had no intention of associating with her—and who could blame him? No dwarf, even (perhaps _especially_) a displaced King, would willingly have any sort of friendship with a _bindâd,_ and a half-breed, at that—and they had never even told her what their quest was. She knew, of course; they were out to rid the world of Azog once and for all—thank Mahal—but that was quite beside the point. They had befriended her, wormed their way into her affections; and then abandoned her.

They had tolerated her while she was in their midst, and now they had moved on.

_Kíli did more than tolerate you,_ a stubborn voice in her head stated. She felt sick as she remembered; their morning ritual of watching the sun rise, his hand on hers as he gave her a tip concerning archery, her arm round his shoulder as they walked down the hall, the light in his brown eyes when he told her stories of growing up with Fíli—

_No._

He had _not_ merely _tolerated_ her. Nor had his brother, come to think of it. Or Ori; sweet, shy Ori who was always so curious about her, her knowledge of plants and animals, or just her world in general. Or Bilbo—_especially_ Bilbo. Their relationship had budded and deepened considerably over the last two weeks, and she honestly had never had a friend like him; one who was not concerned in the least with her bloodline, one who was so damned _easy_ to be around and talk to. She scowled at the sting behind her eyes and the lump in her throat.

But they had all still left without telling her, snuck away in the night like a bunch of thieves. And only Thorin had bothered to even leave a note—a note with _orders _to stay in Rivendell, at that.

Orders! He wanted to tell her what to do when he would not even accept her because of the blood in her veins! Wanted her to sit around here and wait for him to finish his business and then have her appear before him when it was good and convenient for him!

Deorynn swore filthily in Khuzdul and threw the letter into the fire. There would be none of that nonsense.

She was leaving.

And unlike her "friends," she would at least be civil and say goodbye to those she would be leaving behind.

She was stuffing her cloak into her new pack when the first tear fell, a darkened spot on the brown fabric. She swiped at her cheek, furious at her own weakness—she _knew_ better than to allow this sort of thing to happen!—but another hot tear slid down almost immediately.

Incensed, hurt, and acutely lonely; she curled up on the bed and cried, harder than she had since she was a child, newly orphaned and completely alone.

* * *

She found Cirryn a little while later and told her the news. The elf maid embraced her, murmuring in her ear, "Do not cling to your pain, _mellonin_. I'm sure there's a good explanation as to why they left the way they did. Remember why you love them."

Deorynn scoffed, but her heart wasn't in it. "I do not love them."

Cirryn raised one delicate brow. "You're a terrible liar." The girl flushed. "Yeah, I'm not really convincing myself either," she muttered, disheartened. Cirryn squeezed her shoulder.

"_Hebo estel, a calo anor na ven, Deorynn,"_ her friend murmured. Deorynn looked up. "What does it mean? I don't know when I'll see you again, so I'd like to know."

"It means 'have hope, and may the sun shine brightly on your path.'"

The girl blinked stinging eyes and hugged Cirryn. "Goodbye," she choked; and then ran, before she started crying again.

She found Lord Elrond on a balcony overlooking the town, with Gandalf. Deorynn bowed deeply.

"My Lord, your kindness to me has been immeasurable. Thank you for everything you have done; I must take my leave now."

Elrond did not seem surprised. "Where will you go?"

"I know not. Probably east, over the Misty Mountains, then north again to cause some mayhem amongst the orcs up there."

The Elf Lord smiled fondly. "May the stars guide your path, my Lady. You must promise me you'll be careful, and return to us someday." Deorynn nodded. "You have my word, Lord Elrond."

"Good. One last thing." He handed her a pendant—a piece of mithril shaped into a swirling rune she did not recognize. "It is beautiful. What does it mean?" she asked, shocked that he would give her anything more, much less something of such value.

Elrond smiled. "It has come to my attention what you do with yourself, Lelaenil, when you're not running around with bands of dwarves and hobbits. Knowing what little of your story I do, I wish to name you an elf-friend, should you be accepting, and bestow upon you an _Epessë_—a name of honor based upon your accomplishments."

Deorynn nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. "What must I do?"

"Simply bow your head."

She did, and she felt the ancient elf's hand upon her hair a moment later. "Deorynn, for your exploits against the orcs and dark creatures of the North, and for your loyal companionship of my kin here in Rivendell; I name you Elesser, Friend of the Eldar, and call you _Miriel_. Should you ever need passage or assistance from an elf in your travels, simply tell them your name and they will help you."

Deorynn nodded faintly. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I can never repay you the kindnesses you have—"he interrupted her with a raised hand. "It is unnecessary to repay anything. Just be safe."

Gandalf stepped forward and Deorynn smiled at him. "Master Gandalf. It has been a pleasure." The wizard bowed his head in respect. "My dear Deorynn. We will see each other again soon, will we not?" She squirmed slightly. "I doubt it. It will be a good while before I see Rivendell again, and you are off to join Thorin soon, yes?"

"Not for a while, I have some business to attend to first."

She nodded. "Then we shall both hope for the blessing of the Valar on Thorin's mission, a painful death for Azog the Defiler, and a safe return for the entire Company."

Gandalf stilled. "What did you say?"

Deorynn hesitated. "A blessing on—"

"—no, no, the part about Azog."

"A painful death for Azog the Defiler? Surely, Master Wizard, you cannot blame me hoping that creature receives as much pain as—"

"—he is alive?"

Deorynn looked completely confused. "Yes, of course he's alive. Alive and hunting Thorin. _And_ me. That's what Thorin is doing all the way out here, is it not? Drawing that filth away from the Blue Mountains to defeat him at last?"

Gandalf was very quiet. "No. No, my dear, that's not what his mission is at all. It is a different old enemy he aims to defeat; he doesn't even know Azog is alive."

Deorynn's face grew pale as she realized the implications of what he had said. "He…doesn't _know_?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Mahal preserve us," she murmured faintly. "I didn't tell him because I thought he knew. I didn't…oh no…." Deorynn's heart stopped. "I didn't _tell _him! Gandalf, he's gone straight off without knowing that awful orc is tracking him!"

The wizard's eyes flashed as they locked with hers. "You must go after him, Deorynn. I _cannot_ delay my business, but this is a matter of life or death for Thorin and his kin—and will have effects that will reach further than either of us knows. You _must_ get to him and warn him. Keep Azog away; keep them all safe."

Her hard gaze met his. "Just tell me where they're going. I'll throw Azog off the trail—if he's even on it anymore, after two weeks of it going cold while they stayed here—and then I'll warn Thorin."

"They're taking the High Pass through the Misty Mountains. They won't have actually reached the Pass yet, it's a two-week trip; you'll still be able to catch up if you hurry. And Deorynn?"

She turned from the door she'd been walking toward.

"Don't leave them. I have a feeling they'll have need of you before the end."

Deorynn looked skeptical, an old pain flashing in her eyes. "They will not have me. Thorin will send me away."

The wizard shook his head. "Follow them from behind if you must; but you _must not leave them_. Besides," he continued at the resigned look on her face. "I think Thorin will be reasonable once he realizes the gravity of the situation. He's harsh, but not cruel; he'll not leave you without protection when there are orcs hunting you."

Deorynn still didn't look convinced, but she nodded and gave the wizard a nod of respect. "I will see it done."

And she was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Disclaimer: Tolkien is the brains behind this whole operation.

A/N: Umm….so yeah. I'm kinda nervous about how this chapter came out. I hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

_Shouldn't have done it. We should __**not**__ have done it. It was a terrible idea, really. I should have fought harder. Uncle might have come to see reason…_

_Yeah, if I'd done something stupid or drastic._

Kíli trudged along beside his brother, paying no attention to the gentle din of conversation from his friends as they walked. He reflected morosely that he'd probably broken his first maiden heart today. Not in the way all the young dwarf lads joked about on the training grounds or in the taverns—Mahal, no dwarf maiden had ever considered him _that _way in his life; and probably none ever would, especially so long as they had Fíli to stare and bat their eyes at—but he'd hurt a lass, nonetheless. He knew Deorynn better than his uncle did—better than anyone in their group except perhaps Bilbo—and he knew; regardless of how his uncle _meant_ to leave her behind, no matter his arguments that their quest was not her business or his assertions that she'd get over their absence quickly, this particular method of separation was going to feel like a betrayal to her.

Breaking hearts wasn't as fun or amusing as the other lads seemed to think. He felt sick to his stomach and angry at the world—when he was _really_ angry at himself, for not pushing harder to wake her and at least say goodbye. Let her know they simply had to part ways for a while, that he wouldn't forget her, that she wasn't being abandoned.

_Ugh._

Fíli sighed from next to him. Kíli scowled. "What?"

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what? I'm not doing anything."

"Your stare is burning holes in Uncle's back, Kee."

"Yes well. Perhaps he deserves it."

Fíli sighed again. "She'll be fine, brother. She's a tough lass, she's been through far worse than our absence, I promise you. She survived torture, for Mahal's sake!"

"It's not our absence that's going to hurt her," Kíli growled. "It's the way we left."

Fíli didn't argue anymore—_probably because he knows I'm right_, Kíli thought—but squeezed his brother's forearm in a quiet gesture of comfort and just kept walking.

* * *

Deorynn crouched in a copse of trees, looking down into the small valley. Small tendrils of smoke rose from several campfires, and she could hear the harsh sounds of Black Speech coming from the spot. Sighing in relief, the girl considered her next course of action. She had spent all the day she left Rivendell tracking around the foot of the Misty Mountains, searching north and south of Rivendell for any indication of which way Azog had gone. Thank Mahal, she had been right; they'd lost the trail at Rivendell, and she'd found the spot where they'd entered the mountains. Thankfully, it was several leagues north of where Thorin had entered, and nowhere near the High Pass—they probably thought no sane company would try travelling the High Pass.

Which was a very logical assumption. Deorynn herself wondered at the sanity of that plan; but if it kept Azog away, she was all for it.

After tracking them the rest of the night and into the next day, she had finally come across unmistakable signs of orc: trampled underbrush, remains of a camp—a larger one than she was comfortable with—filth smeared on trees, and several half-eaten animal corpses. Now she sat on the ridge looking down into their new camp, calling on all her courage to do what she needed to do next.

It was time for some serious deflection.

Azog had obviously been patrolling this area, north and south, waiting for Thorin to leave the safety of Rivendell. Which meant that as soon as they broke camp here, they would head south and eventually cross whatever path Thorin had taken—at which point the chase would be on again.

Only the Company had no idea they were being pursued. Deorynn shuddered.

Her best option was to ensure that Azog did not head south, hoping to pick up the trail. And the best way to ensure he didn't pick up the real trail?

Create a false one.

Preferably one going straight east, the same direction Azog knew Thorin was headed; except the false trail would be too far north, causing his path to run parallel to Thorin's, several leagues distanced and over rougher terrain.

Deorynn sighed. This was going to be difficult; the group of orcs she was dealing with now was much larger than she was used to, and probably a bit smarter. Not only that, the new skills she had acquired under Dwalin's temporary tutelage would be useless here because she could not afford to fight or kill _any_ orcs.

Azog could never know she had been here.

Slowly, she snuck a wide path to the southernmost point of the orcs' camp, staying well out of sight and earshot of the sentries. She waited for the glare of sunset, and then ran south for about a quarter of a league. Carefully, she cleared a spot and stomped around in the dirt, leaving footprints deliberately, tamping down certain areas to look like bedrolls had rested there.

Setting her sights due east, she spent the rest of the night leaving small signs of her presence—a broken branch here, a footprint there, a snag of fabric against a tree branch—doing her best to make it look like a company of dwarves had come this way.

Around two hours after midnight, she came across a decent sized river that would work perfectly to help her abandon her false trail. She crossed, stomped around on the opposite bank for a bit, and then stepped back into the freezing water and headed south. She did not stop until dawn, despite the lack of feeling in her feet and her own exhaustion—two whole days and nights without rest, while she _could_ do it and _had_ before, was never pleasant.

The sun rose warm and bright over the mountains on her left, caressing her skin with warmth and easing her shivering. Guessing she had traveled far enough in the water, Deorynn began walking instead along the riverbank. By her own estimation, she would cross the path she suspected Thorin to have taken by about noon today, at which point she could start tracking her real quarry.

Her friends.

* * *

There was nothing for it, Bilbo was missing Rivendell. The elves had been everything he'd ever imagined, better than anything he'd ever read in any of his books; their haven at the foot of the Misty Mountains something like a dream come true for him. He had truly considered Lord Elrond's offer to stay; but he had signed a contract, given his word, and he was nothing if not a Hobbit of integrity. So he walked along with the rest of the Company, near the back, trying his best to enjoy the lovely weather and the view the Misty Mountains afforded.

They were barely into the mountains just yet, and it was already hard to keep up.

But usually one or more of the dwarves hung back a bit to keep him from falling too far behind—before Rivendell, Fíli and Kíli had often been at his side, and Bilbo always found their harmless teasing and banter amusing. At the moment—indeed, for the last two days—Kíli was in no mood for banter, though Bilbo could see he was doing his best to stop moping. Bilbo understood his feeling; he too was most displeased with how Thorin had handled Deorynn.

Though he had less of an excuse for having gone along with it than Kíli did, Thorin was no kin of _his_; and he felt awful about it. He only hoped she followed instructions and stayed in Rivendell, if for no other reason than he wished to apologize when he saw her again.

Though knowing what he knew of the girl, he doubted she would. He imagined her temper at whatever Thorin had written her—he didn't have to be a wizard to know it had probably been succinct and distant—and the image made him chuckle just a little.

Deorynn seemed the type to have a formidable temper when it was riled.

Bofur, who was walking beside the hobbit, caught his grin. "What are you thinking about, there, old boy?" he asked cheerfully.

Bilbo's smile widened. "Rivendell."

Bofur hummed his acknowledgement. "It was quite the place, that." He looked sidelong at Bilbo. "I look forward to the day when you get to experience the hospitality of dwarves, for real. Preferably in Erebor."

Bilbo turned to him. "Tell me?"

"What, about Erebor?"

"Yes. Tell me about the hospitality of dwarves in Erebor."

Bofur's eyes took on a faraway look—one that Bilbo recognized, because he was certain his face often looked like that when he thought of Bag-End. A twinge of pity stirred in his breast. "Erebor is beautiful," Bofur began. "It's not as dark as you'd imagine, you know, being under the mountain and all. They set up a giant system of mirrors from the mountainside to bring in light, and it nearly looks like the sun shines inside. If you ever get the chance to visit the Hall of Mirrors, you must; it is a sight unlike any you'll see anywhere else in Arda. The halls are high and gold vein runs through the stone. It's vast—there are tunnels and bridges and living quarters and storerooms…and underneath it all is a network of caverns where people can bathe. The caverns are untouched by our metal craft—natural formations and shining water that is heated in the ground.

"We used to have parties, you know. Oh, such parties! There was music all night long, echoing through the city, and dancing until no one could stand any longer. The lasses would cook up a feast and the lads would bring in ale and game; and we would celebrate, sometimes all night long, our prosperity and joy."

Bilbo smiled wider. "It sounds like it was wonderful."

Bifur had joined them, listening to his brother's words. He spoke in Khuzdul to Bofur, who smiled and clapped him on the back. Bilbo asked, "What did he say?"

"He says it will be wonderful again."

* * *

Deorynn stopped to rest around midday. She had not yet picked up the dwarves' trail, which led her to believe either she had missed them completely and needed to go further south, or they had not travelled this far east yet.

Her conundrum was answered a few minutes later when she heard the stomp of heavy feet and the pleasant drone of voices approaching. She stood where she was, her heart beating wildly with excitement to see them again.

Excitement, or was it fear?

She had no idea what she was going to say to Thorin. Somehow she didn't think, "Gandalf said so" was going to be a welcome explanation as to her presence there. And she wondered if he'd even give her a chance to really explain; explain that she had left out vital information in Rivendell by mistake and then chased after them after he expressly told her not to.

Oh Mahal, he was going to hate her.

She had not the time to brood further, for at that moment, the Company, Thorin in the lead, turned a corner up ahead and came into view.

Balin saw her first, and stopped moving at all, shock evident on his aged face. Thorin noticed immediately—she had to give him credit for being so attuned to his men—and looked about to see what had rendered Balin speechless.

His gaze landed on her, and her face heated up in spite of herself. Gathering her courage, she began to walk toward them, trying to look self-assured.

She was pretty sure the look she actually managed was more constipated than confident.

She hadn't gone five feet before a voice she recognized shouted, "Deorynn!" and a dark blur came barreling toward her. Unable to hold back the smile that split her face, Deorynn squeaked in a most undignified manner when Kíli threw his arms around her a moment later, laughing in spite of her nerves. Kíli laughed too, and then drew back, looking her straight in the eye.

"I am sorry," he said earnestly.

She could not resist him. "You should be. But I forgive you."

Fíli had reached them and he had a hug for her too. "Don't tell Uncle," he whispered in her ear, "But I'm glad you're back. There's been no living with Kíli the last two days."

She laughed out loud at that, which seemed to snap Thorin out of his daze and he shouted, startling poor Bilbo, who was on his way to greet the girl himself:

"WHAT IN DURIN'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Disclaimer: You know the drill; Middle Earth belongs to Tolkien, not me.

A/N: Many thanks to all of you for reading, following, and favoriting! I love writing anyway, but it's even more fulfilling knowing you all are enjoying the story as much as I! Shout outs to OrisounAsh, Princess Quill, and summerald, all of whom not only have amazing stories you should go read (!), but have been incredibly helpful to me while working on this!

In this chapter, we have arguments, rage, and angst! Hooray for short-tempered dwarves!

* * *

"WHAT IN DURIN'S NAME IS GOING ON HERE?"

Deorynn winced at the anger in his voice. _It'll get worse before it gets better_, a little voice at the back of her head told her.

"Thorin, I—"

"—What are you doing here, girl?"

"Please, just let me—"

"How did you find us?!"

"Well that was easy enough, once I—"

"How dare you follow us?"

"I HAD TO!" Deorynn shouted, effectively drowning out the ranting dwarf king. He stared at her as though she'd grown an extra head, his eyes sparking with fury.

Thorin stalked toward her, and she took a few steps forward, putting some distance between her and the brothers. She did not want to bring them into this; such action would drive a wedge between them and their uncle.

And she, of all people, knew what a strained family relationship felt like. No one deserved that, not even the arrogant king in front of her, and especially not his dear nephews.

Said king didn't stop until he was less than a foot in front of her, then he looked her levelly in the eye and growled:

"Explain yourself."

Deorynn wondered how to best approach this. She hadn't thought enough about it, she realized with a jolt of panic. She should have worked that out while she was travelling, only she'd been so focused on finding the orcs, and after them, the dwarves….And now the moment was here and she had no idea how to handle it.

Thorin barked at her, "Speak!"

Deciding that the easiest way to deal with the stubborn dwarf was to just go ahead and drop the rock right there on his head, Deorynn took a deep breath.

"Azog the Defiler is tracking you."

A wild range of emotions played on Thorin's face in the bare moment after her declaration. Suspicion, disbelief, anger, bitterness, fear, and horror all had their turn before he settled on shock.

"No. It cannot be."

The tone of his voice made Deorynn's heart flutter with pity and concern for him, quite against her will. "I'm sorry. It is so."

But the dwarf king was not there, she could see. His mind was trapped in a horrible battle outside the gates of Moria; watching his grandfather be murdered by a disfigured monster, seeing his father go mad with grief and flee, growing up in mere moments and taking command of the dwarven forces. Thorin's mind was firmly in the past, at the Battle of Azanulbizar.

"Thorin," she said quietly. "You must hear me. He is _hunting_ you."

His eyes snapped back to the present, clouding with anger instantly. "Azog is dead." He turned, as if to walk away.

"Don't be a fool, Thorin! I have seen his camp, just yesterday!"

Thorin turned back to her, practically spitting in fury. "And how do you know so much about it, eh? How do you even know who Azog is or that he's hunting me? Are you in league with orcs, that you should be privy to such information?"

Deorynn distantly heard a couple gasps of horror at the accusation, but her mind was beginning to cloud with rage of her own, and she had eyes only for the leader of this little expedition.

"Because he is hunting me, too."

Thorin twitched. _Yes, you should be uncomfortable,_ she thought angrily.

"The orcs that captured me, just before you found me, they spoke of turning both me and Thorin Oakenshield over to Azog for a reward. They were part of his hunting party. Please, you must listen to me; the lives of your kin and the success of your quest depend upon it!"

Thorin seemed to have put two and two together, and Deorynn knew she was in for it now. She braced herself.

"Wait, you knew this at _Rivendell_? You knew we were being pursued and _said nothing_?!"

He was even redder in the face than he had been before, if that were possible.

Deorynn tried to forestall his temper, "I thought that was—"

He interrupted her. _Of course._ "Why would you withhold that kind of information? Are you really that daft, or did it just…slip your mind amongst all the frolicking and weapons training and storytelling? Did you mean us harm, or are you just too stupid—"

"I thought that _was_ your mission!" Deorynn shouted again. Oh, he was a piece of work, this one. "I thought that you must have been drawing Azog away from your home and planning to finish him, maybe meet up with some reinforcements on the other side of the Misty Mountains. I thought that _was_ your goal! Why, pray tell, would I tell you something you already knew?!"

Thorin was stuttering, but she wasn't done.

"That would be as if….as if you were headed to Erebor, and I said, 'hey Thorin, you know, there's a dragon in Erebor. In case you hadn't noticed. Best of luck to you!'" Deorynn stopped. His face had paled slightly, and he looked like he might blow an artery any minute.

"How did you know that, girl? Did that damned wizard tell you?"

"Know what?" Deorynn cried. "It was an example, Thorin, nothing mo—" she stopped when she realized what he'd said. "_Wait._ You're not actually going to…._no_, you can't be."

He stared at her, hard.

"Oh Mahal," she whispered. "You _are_ going to Erebor."

Well_. That_ changed things. There was a dragon in their future, and untold danger between here and there, but she had sworn to Gandalf she would not leave them…and it was Erebor.

_Erebor._

Her mother's homeland. The place where she would have been born and raised, if not for that blasted dragon. The place that would have been her home. Oh, Deorynn was not going anywhere now. She was following this Company if she had to do it hiding and sneaking behind them the entire way.

Thorin was speaking again. "So you thought we were luring Azog into a trap, and that's why you never mentioned it? That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

"Well, what was I supposed to think?" the girl countered, her anger flaring again. "It's not as if you _told_ me what you were doing there in Rivendell, with a bunch of dwarves, a hobbit, and a wizard. In fact, it's not as if you _told_ me much of anything at all, Thorin, just that you couldn't accept my fealty because my father was a Man instead of a dwarf! After that dismissal, you hadn't the time of day for me until your sorry excuse for a letter showed up in my room the morning after you left! I had very little information to go on, and it seemed like a logical course of action!"

The king looked completely nonplussed. Deorynn was breathing hard with the force of her temper, and that was the loudest sound around for a few moments.

When Thorin spoke again, it was quietly, in a deadly calm voice that told Deorynn he was on the very edge of losing what was left of his composure with her, "And the logical course of action for you, right now, is going to be to go back to Rivendell and stay there until I send for you."

Deorynn _had_ been ready to back off. She really wasn't interested in fighting with Thorin any more than was strictly necessary. She _had_ been ready to make peace and get on with the business of walking with these people she had begun to call friends.

But at Thorin's thinly-veiled order, her pride and bitterness and rage all came to the fore, and she could not stop herself from biting back:

"I am _not_ your subject, as you so kindly made clear back in Rivendell."

Thorin growled a warning. She was too angry to heed it.

"But I promised Gandalf I would stay with you, keep you all safe; and I'll keep my word. I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Yes."

"NO."

Balin stepped in. "Laddie, come now, let's have a chat, shall we?" Thorin stood like a statue for just a moment, then followed Balin several yards away and they proceeded to talk quietly. Deorynn took the momentary respite to gather her composure.

"Well, that is quite the pretty kettle of fish," stated a voice just behind her left shoulder. She turned and smiled down at Bilbo, gathering him into a hug unapologetically. "Bilbo," she murmured into his hair. "My dear hobbit."

He squeezed her, then let go. She stepped back, letting him see she was ashamed. "I messed up, Bilbo. I should have mentioned Azog back there. He is right to be angry at me for that."

"Not as angry as he is," Bilbo countered. "He acts as though you deliberately sent us all into danger."

The girl shuddered. "As if I ever would. I've met Azog's lieutenant, or the one who used to be his lieutenant—I assume the elves killed him with the rest—and I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone."

Bilbo squeezed her shoulder.

"Of course you wouldn't," came Dwalin's booming voice from over her head. "Hello again, lassie. You didn't make your weapons lesson yesterday."

She looked up at him, slightly startled to see his smile. She'd expected scary, intimidating Dwalin to be as angry as Thorin, if not more so. She had disobeyed a direct order, after all.

Sensing her confusion, Dwalin just shrugged. "I'm not unhappy to see you here, lass; I know what you can do and we need all the help we can get. Even if you are…not full dwarf."

Deorynn nodded. "Thanks, Dwalin."

It took only a few more moments for Thorin to evidently come to a decision. He stormed back over to her and shoved his finger in her face. "You'll stay with this Company, on the recommendation of both Gandalf and Balin, whom I trust implicitly; and because if Azog really is hunting you, abandoning you in the wilderness would be tantamount to killing you myself. I _do not_, however, trust you. And you'll not get one gold coin from Erebor until I do, is that understood?"

Deorynn bit back a scoff at the idea of her carting around gold and jewels from the dragon's horde. She neither needed nor desired the treasures that Erebor had to offer. "Completely."

* * *

Deorynn walked near the rear of the group, next to Bilbo, doing her best not to be noticed at all. She had gotten off rather easily, thanks to Balin; it seemed like there had been a very real possibility there for a few moments that Thorin would refuse to let her stay with them. Just because he had made his decision, however, it did not make him happy about it. Just after declaring she would be coming with them, Thorin had barked orders for everyone to move out and had been pointedly ignoring her ever since.

Fíli and Kíli had, at first, tried to walk on either side of her, aiming to strike up some of the banter and camaraderie they had cultivated in Rivendell; but Thorin's glare at the first hint of a giggle that escaped her lips had shut that down immediately. Kíli had looked ready to protest, but Deorynn put a hand on his arm and murmured, "Not yet. Just give him some time; I'll walk with Bilbo for a while." She'd smiled, to assure him she wasn't angry, and fallen back.

Bilbo had been quite understanding of what she was trying to do, and didn't make much attempt at conversation. It was just as well, she thought, as she was honestly in no mood for it anyway. Her confrontation with Thorin had shaken her, more than she was willing to admit. It reminded her of the worst argument she had ever had with Dalos, her mother's husband, one night after spending all day in the woods with her brother:

"_Where have you been all day, girl?!"_

"_Talos and I were exploring the western wood," she answered, squeezing her brother's shoulder in a side hug. Dalos smiled at his son. "Talos, why don't you go see if your mother needs help with the chickens, mm?" The five-year old's face had lit up with joy—helping ma with the 'chittuns' was one of his favorite things to do—and he had favored Deorynn with a hug round her waist before dashing off to do as his father had said. The young dwarfling watched him go with a tender smile._

_Dalos brought her back with a sound slap across the face. "What were you thinking, keeping him out in the woods for hours on end? He is five summers old, he could've been killed!" Deorynn put a hand to her burning cheek, looking up at the Chief Dwarf with something akin to hate. "I was with him the whole time, he was perfectly safe!"_

_Dalos scoffed derisively. "That does not comfort me in the least. You and your elven tendencies; frolicking in the woods, using that bow—which I'm confiscating, by the way—talking to the animals under the open sky. You're a disgrace to this family, Deorynn, and I'll not have you influencing my son—my full-blooded dwarf son—with your half-breed ways. Probably would turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble if there was any, anyway."_

_That, more than anything else he'd said, pricked Deorynn. "I would die to protect my brother!" she nearly screamed._

"_I wish you would!" Dalos raged back._

_The girl blinked. She was used to Dalos' hatred of her, his (and others') constant needling about her lack of propriety, how she was a sorry excuse for a dwarf, but…..no one had ever expressed outright that they wished her dead._

_Death was final, death was permanent. There was no recourse from death, no ability to come back later and make amends._

"_Well maybe someday I will! I'm sure you'll be happy then! Hope you're ready to deal with a grief-stricken mother on that day, though, Dalos; because if there is one person in this world who loves me, it is she."_

_Dalos sneered. "Her grief would be nothing next to the relief she would feel. She confessed to me not two days ago that she wishes you had never been born, that you've been nothing but a burden and a heartache to her."_

_The dwarfling's face had crumpled at that, and she fled to her room._

_That was the day Deorynn understood that not only was she not accepted in dwarven society __**then;**__ but that she never would be. There was no hope she could ever be respected, regarded with admiration, or even just plain liked here. _

_It was the first—and only—time Dalos had ever truly hurt her. And it was the last time she'd allow it._

She came back to the present when Bilbo nudged her. "Deorynn, hey, are you in there?"

She shook the memories away. "Yes, sorry, what was that?"

He smiled softly. "We're stopping for the evening. Will you help me find some herbs to go with our dinner?"

Deorynn nodded, and they walked toward the small meadow to see what edibles grew there. Bilbo asked, "What were you thinking about back there anyway? You looked really sad."

Deorynn bit back the lump in her throat.

"The past."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Disclaimer: Only Deorynn is mine, everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien!

A/N: Well! Now we get to the fun part—the traveling! *dun dun dunnnnnnnn* This chapter features protective dwarves, independent Deorynn, and the first stage of group dynamics! (Yes, I have studied this. Sorta.)

A _thousand_ most earnest thanks for Princess Quill for helping me get this chapter edited and up for your enjoyment! Seriously, I couldn't have done it without her!

* * *

The sun rose in a flurry of red and orange, greeting the girl keeping watch over the slumbering camp quietly. Deorynn closed her eyes for just a moment, letting the heat warm her face and preparing to wake the others soon.

Thorin had insisted she be placed on the watch schedule if she was to accompany them; and to placate him, Balin had given her the hour before sunrise, knowing that was generally accepted as the easiest shift. It suited Deorynn just fine, as watches go, since she likely would have been up anyway to watch the sun start the day. After two days without a good rest, Deorynn had fallen asleep between Fíli and Kíli (she was half-surprised Thorin hadn't woken her in a temper over that alone) almost immediately after dinner the night before; but she woke about an hour before her shift and could not get back to sleep, due to an unforeseen complication that she had a bad feeling was going to be something of an issue on this journey:

Dwarves snored. _Loudly._

For someone accustomed to travelling alone, it was not only quite the shock, but also rather annoying. Deorynn had huffed as soon as she realized she was not going to get to sleep any more _that_ night, and scooted out of the blanket someone must have placed over her the night before. After making a nature call, she returned to camp to sit beside Bifur, whose watch was before hers. Smiling, she'd signed to him, _Good morning! Would you like to go rest? I'm awake now and won't be sleeping any more tonight._

Bifur smiled. _Are you sure? You should get all the rest you can._

_No, really, I can't sleep any more. It's…too loud. No offense._

At that, Bifur actually laughed, and Deorynn decided she quite liked the sound. _Very well, then, lass. Do be careful, have a good watch._

_Sleep well, Bifur._

So here she sat, enjoying the sunrise even while keeping a sharp eye on the woods surrounding their little camp. A small herd of deer had come through a little while ago, and Deorynn thought perhaps later she could hunt a bit and give some meat to Bombur to cook up for dinner. That would be something they would all enjoy, she suspected.

Her ears, alert for sound, heard footsteps approaching, too heavy to be Bilbo but too light to be Thorin or Dwalin. She turned just as a drowsy-looking Kíli plopped down on the log beside her, rubbing his eyes. Deorynn bit back a laugh. "Good morning."

He smiled sleepily. "Morning."

"What are you doing up so early?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he countered. "It's sunrise."

Deorynn couldn't stop the smile that nearly split her face at the fact that their little tradition mattered to him too. "Indeed it is. It's lovely, yes?"

"Always is."

Deorynn looked back out toward the woods, mindful of her duty. Kili nudged her with his shoulder and asked quietly, "Is Azog really hunting you?"

The girl looked back at him seriously. "Yes. He is."

A look crossed his face that Deorynn couldn't identify.

"Are you afraid?"

She sucked her breath in as her stomach tightened. Should she deflect, protect herself from the vulnerability such a question prompted; or should she answer him honestly? She looked over at this young dwarf who had accepted her so readily, even after knowing what she was, and took a chance she had never taken since she left home:

"Yes."

Her face burned and she looked away, but Kíli reached out and tilted her chin back toward him. She stiffened at the contact and resisted for only a moment, but then relented. He held her gaze and assured her seriously, "You know we'll never let him hurt you, right? Even Uncle would tear that orc apart if he so much as touched you."

Deorynn grimaced. "Your uncle would tear that orc apart for reasons that have nothing at all to do with me. But I appreciate the sentiment, Kíli, even if I don't entirely believe it." She smiled at his answering frown. "However, if I have my way, it'll never be necessary for us to find out. That disgusting creature won't get anywhere near _any_ of us."

He paused, but then yielded. "That would be ideal, yes."

The girl grinned savagely. "Oh he won't. I'll make sure of it."

Kíli slapped her on the back. "That's my Deorynn. Come on, we'd best get everyone else up and moving."

* * *

After breakfast, Oin was checking his pack and readying himself to leave when the fatherless lass approached him shyly.

"Master Oin?"

He looked up and grunted in acknowledgement. She paused, then took that as a sign to continue.

"I just wanted to offer my assistance, should you need it, as a healer. I'm not…a professional…but I know a good bit about patching up wounds in the wilderness and I have several medicines I carry that you can have." She held out a two bundles of tea sachets and some clay jars. "I figure if I'm going to be part of this team, I'd best share my resources." She pointed at each jar in turn. "This first one is scarlet globe mallow and aloe—rare, but I was lucky there was some in Rivendell. There are very few herbs that will draw out a poison faster. The second one here is ginseng, to increase strength during healing—invaluable when you don't have time or ability to lie around when you're wounded—and the last one in the tiny jar is comfrey, which is excellent for all kinds of healing, from broken bones to burns and lacerations. The teas are ginger and clove. Please, take them."

Oin stared, shocked into silence. These medicines were worth too much to offer freely, especially the scarlet globe mallow and the comfrey. He would never have been able to afford them if he'd tried to buy them, and here this young _shirumund_ was offering them and asking nothing in return.

He took the jars and sachets from the girl numbly, barely managing a "thank you, girl" before she smiled and walked away.

Was it possible he had misjudged the lass?

* * *

The day passed without incident, and they managed to travel several leagues over the rough terrain before stopping in a clearing near the top of a peak. Deorynn spoke briefly with Balin and disappeared into the trees, running swiftly toward the summit. She breathed deeply as she ran, feeling the mountain air clear in her chest and smiling at the sensation. Upon reaching the top, she hopped off a rock and into the lowest branches of a tall pine, scaling the tree effortlessly.

At the top of the trunk, she brushed some branches aside and looked around, taking in the vista around her. The mountains rose in rugged peaks, colored purple and blue in the waning sunlight. Her gaze slid over peaks and valleys, small lakes and a few rivers, and finally landed on distant tendrils of smoke. She stared, estimating the distance and which direction the orcs had headed. It looked as though they were definitely running parallel to Thorin's group, several leagues behind them and to the north. Nodding her satisfaction, the girl dropped carefully from the tree and sprinted the half mile back to camp.

Deorynn entered the camp at a jog, sniffing as the aroma of Bombur's stew reached her nostrils and smiling. Her smile lasted only a moment, though, before Dwalin stormed over to her and grabbed her arm. The girl stared, wondering what she could possibly have done wrong.

"You ran to the peak by yourself?!" he growled.

Deorynn stammered an affirmative, and he shook her firmly. "What were you thinking? There are orcs everywhere in these mountains! You realize that, do you not?"

The girl nodded, still not sure what the problem was. "Yes, of course I realize that. I had to make sure Azog wasn't gaining on us."

"You can't just…go out there alone!"

"Dwalin, I don't understand the problem. I'm fine."

"You might not have been!"

Thorin interrupted. "Is he?"

Deorynn blinked. "What?"

"Azog. Is he gaining on us?"

She shook her head. "No. He's several leagues behind us, and way too far north to pick up our trail."

Thorin nodded and turned away.

Dwalin looked angry still, and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Deorynn glared and yanked her arm away from him. Bilbo, sensing trouble, had come to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She pulled away from him, too. "I'm no helpless maiden," she snarled at Dwalin, then turned on her heel and stomped away from camp. Fíli called out to her, warning her it was dangerous and she ought to stay in sight, but she flashed a rude gesture his way and didn't stop. She marched loudly for several minutes, turning her steps so she was at least circling camp just out of sight.

She was angry, not stupid. She knew it was dangerous out here, knew that safety lay in numbers and weapons—only the former of which she had left behind. She had her daggers, quiver, and bow. She'd be fine.

Who did they think she was anyway? Their prisoner? How many years had she survived just fine on her own? She didn't need them, hadn't needed anyone since the orcs stole her mother and baby brother from her. She didn't need to be protected, and she wasn't interested in fitting their mold of what the perfect dwarf maiden should and should not do. No perfect little dwarf maiden would have gotten her dress wet to save some panicking dwarf boy from drowning. No dwarf maiden would have bothered tracking orcs and laying a false trail, before running after them to warn them of the danger. No dwarf maiden _she'd_ ever met would've….

On and on went her thoughts, til she was spent and sat down on a rock with her head in her hands. She loved this group, much as she hated to admit it; the amount of affection she felt for Fíli and Kíli was beginning to alarm her, while Bilbo was quickly becoming the dearest friend she'd ever had. Bifur had accepted her readily, Dwalin was an excellent teacher, and Ori was all curiosity and gentle shyness.

But regardless of all that, she couldn't stand being treated like a….like a….

_Like a woman?_

She moaned into her hands.

"You know, I often find when walks alone fail to solve my dilemma," a gentle voice behind her stated, "it can be useful to talk about it. Do you wish to share what's bothering you, Lady Deorynn?" Balin sat down beside her, smiling. She looked at him, suddenly realizing that she really _did_ want to talk about it—about so many things—and that he was offering to listen.

She sighed, figuring it was best to start with the acknowledgement of her own wrongdoing. "I'm sorry I got so angry," she blushed a bit remembering. "I'm afraid my temper can be quite quick when it comes to certain things."

Balin chuckled. "Evidently."

She huffed. "Where do they get off treating me like I'm…delicate? I don't need their protection! I'm perfectly capable—"

"Ah, that's the trouble, is it not?" the old dwarf interrupted. Deorynn gaped at him. "What?"

"You're perfectly capable."

Deorynn stared at him, uncomprehending. "Well, yes, I am."

Balin nodded. "You've been on your own a long time; have you not, my dear?"

Comprehension dawned in her eyes. "You think I'm overreacting." Balin put his hands out in a placating gesture. "I did not say that. But I do think you are unused to being part of a group; unused to being taken care of and worried over and cared for."

That stopped her. "Cared for? Worried over? Why would they even…?"

Balin raised his eyebrows. "Why would they even what? Care for you?" He looked troubled. "Is it really that preposterous an idea?"

"No, of course not! Well, yes, but….I mean…." Her words petered off. Balin didn't push her. She looked up at him after a moment, her expression distressed.

"Balin, I don't understand. I just don't understand why he was so upset, I'm _fine_."

Balin smiled kindly. "Do you care for us, Deorynn?"

She looked affronted. "Of course!"

"Then think of how you would have felt had it been Kíli who disappeared. Or Fíli. Or any one of them. Wouldn't you have been concerned? Upset, even?"

The girl deflated before his eyes. "Yes, of course. But _you_ knew where I was."

"Yes," he responded. "And I told Dwalin when he asked. But Dwalin responds to his protectiveness differently than I do. Always has."

Deorynn smiled, then sighed a few moments later. "I suppose I'd better go apologize."

He nudged her arm fondly. "If it makes you feel any better, we've all had to apologize at some point."

She gave him a small smile and walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, as always.

A/N: Hello everyone, and thanks, as usual, for reading and following! This chapter has our heroine overreacting, Kíli thinking things he oughtn't, and Bilbo learning badassery.

* * *

Uncomfortable knots coiled and tightened in Deorynn's stomach as she made her way back to the camp. She knew the feeling, though not in conjunction with this sort of situation; it was fear, harsh and cold, much like the kind she usually experienced in the moments of preparation before attacking a group of enemies.

Except she'd rather deal with a whole slew of orcs right now. At least she knew how to handle _that_ situation. She'd never offended a friend before—mostly because she'd never had a real friend to offend, she supposed—and the anxiety of how Dwalin and the others would react to her apology was only intensified by the shame at her own show of temper.

"_Mahalu-me-turg_," she cursed as her feet stumbled over a tree root and she stopped, feeling nauseous. This was _ridiculous_. She hadn't done anything that terrible. Besides,it was Dwalin, for Aulë's sake; what could he possibly do to hurt her? She shuddered as she realized: he—_all of them_—could hurt her worse than Azog the Defiler himself.

She didn't give two hoots what Azog thought of her; and there were worse things than physical pain.

Deorynn banged her head on a tree trunk a few times at the epiphany. Well. She was in over her head now, and there was no denying it. And Dwalin was probably still angry at her. What must the others think? Kíli was probably angry too—he tended to be protective of her as well. And Fíli; she could practically _see_ the look of disappointment on his face. Bilbo would likely realize he'd befriended an unstable crazy woman and push her away like he should've done weeks ago. Her stomach twisted and she tasted bile.

_What?_

She had worked herself up to the point of illness? That hadn't happened in _years_. She really needed to buck up and get on with this before she lost her lunch along with her dignity.

Quelling her rebellious stomach and squaring her shoulders, Deorynn walked into camp quietly, heading straight for Dwalin. He was seated between Gloin and Thorin, which did nothing to soothe the girl's anxiety. She nearly lost her nerve, but Balin walked into camp right at that moment and gave her an encouraging smile. She nodded back, and forced her feet to move again. Dwalin looked up when she approached, as did Thorin, though Gloin continued to steadfastly ignore her very existence.

Taking a deep breath, Deorynn choked out, "I'm sorry I got so angry with you. I didn't understand why you were upset and felt smothered. I…don't react well to being smothered."

Thorin barely concealed a snort—of amusement or derision she couldn't say, though she suspected the latter—but Dwalin just nodded. "It's all right, lass," he answered. "I overreacted a bit myself; I'm sure you were very careful out there. Just…don't leave camp alone any more, all right? The rules are the same for everyone—we all take someone with us when we go that far from safety."

Deorynn shifted uncomfortably. "Well, the thing is, see…you're all so…heavy. And loud. No offense!" she hastened to amend at the look on Dwalin's face, "but you are! And I travel fast and light; concealment is my best weapon. I'm less likely to be spotted alone."

Thorin seemed to consider her words before stating, "You could take our burglar with you. He's supposed to be exceptionally good at sneaking."

Deorynn fought back a smile as the suggestion sank in. That was actually a really good idea. Dwalin was scoffing though. "The hobbit is a good lad, Thorin, but he'd hardly be protection if the girl ran into trouble."

"Wait," she interrupted. "Bilbo is perfect for this. And if we run into trouble, I'll fight and he can get back to camp for help." She smiled. "Then you can all come running as loudly as you like."

Dwalin looked ready to argue again, but much to her surprise, Thorin stopped him. "No, Dwalin, she is right. It is a good arrangement." The girl nodded, thanked them both, and turned to go sit beside her friends with a sigh of relief.

* * *

Kíli smiled at Deorynn from where he was sitting beside Fíli, a bowl of stew and enough space between them for her to sit, motioning for her to come and get it. She smiled widely at him and sat heavily. She turned to Fíli before she would even eat.

"Hey, I'm sorry about the whole…" she waved her hands vaguely, "insulting gesture thing." Kíli bit back a laugh while his brother chuckled.

"Trust me, I've been called worse. And I know how to handle an ill-tempered dwarf."

"Maybe not so much an ill-tempered lass, though," she shot back.

He gave her a wink. "I wouldn't know, I've never met one."

Kíli choked a bit at that and reached behind her to cuff his brother on the head, while Deorynn and Bilbo both laughed heartily. He knew that gentle teasing tone, the sidelong glances and indirect compliments. His brother was _flirting_ with their friend. Mildly flirting, but still.

It annoyed him, for some unaccountable reason. Probably because she was so socially inept, she might take it the wrong way. Fíli was only having a bit of fun, he knew; the teasing was a sign of fondness and affection—but Kíli feared she could misinterpret it as meaning more than that, and he did not want to see her hurt.

Yes, that was it.

He ignored the little voice in his head that berated him for being absolutely no better than Fíli when it came to teasing and giving signals that could be easily misinterpreted. He flashed back to their wild game of chase back in Rivendell that had ended with him pinning her to the ground and just lying there, caught completely unawares by the way his chest had constricted at the sight of her below him; and turned away, pretending to dig in his pack for something to hide the hot blush the memory brought to his cheeks.

No. He was only concerned for her emotional well-being. That was all.

Yes.

"Oh Kíli….." Deorynn's singsong voice interrupted his treacherous thoughts. _Thank Aulë._ He turned to her. "Yes?"

"You were somewhere else, my friend. It's your turn to tell a story tonight!"

"Ahhh, so it is." He fumbled for inspiration. "Let's see….did I ever tell you about Fíli's first hunt?"

Deorynn looked at him with wide eyes and a smile, while Fíli groaned theatrically. "Kíli! Not that story! Have you no mercy at all, Brother?"

Kíli sent the blond dwarf an evil grin and launched into the tale.

"It was early summer, after Fíli's seventieth birthday; and we decided to take a two-day hunting trip together, just the two of us. I had been hunting for years, but Fíli had never been, and we always talked about going; so that year we did. It was perfect weather for it, and we started out early in the morning, before dawn.

When we reached the hunting grounds, we both sat down to wait, and my brother launched into a rather loud conversation, of all things!" Deorynn, as a fellow hunter, looked properly horrified. One of the key skills required to hunt was _silence_. Kíli nodded. "On my honor, that's what he did! So I explained to him that he was going to have to be quiet or he'd chase off all the game.

And there we sat for a while. The sun was warm on our backs, the wind softly blowing on our faces. A little family of rabbits came by, and I nabbed three of them, wondering why Fíli never even took a shot; so when the fourth one came by, I nudged him, only to hear a loud snore. He had completely fallen asleep while we were sitting there waiting!"

Deorynn was clutching her sides laughing.

"The best part was later that evening, though, when the deer finally came by near sunset. Fíli took his position, lined up his shot, all as he should've; he took a deep breath and prepared to fire. Then, just as he readied to let the arrow fly, a little firefly landed on his nose. It startled him so badly he lost control of the shot and the arrow buried itself in the tree behind my head!"

Most of the camp was howling now, though many of them had heard this story multiple times. Kíli noticed with some satisfaction that even his uncle was smiling softly.

Fíli was shouting over the din, "It dive-bombed my face! It wasn't my fault!" which only made everyone laugh harder. Deorynn and Bilbo were both wiping away tears of mirth.

Fíli huffed.

* * *

Bilbo turned as he heard Deorynn call his name softly the next night, just after they'd stopped for the day. He bit back a groan at his sore muscles—he'd gone soft again in Rivendell, he feared—but favored the girl with a smile.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I need you to come with me to see if I can find Azog's camp. There's a high ridge about a quarter mile southwest, we must be quick and quiet."

Bilbo was confused for just a moment before he realized that this must be how she was able to tell Thorin yesterday where Azog was. Get somewhere high, locate campfires or whatever other signs orcs left behind at that distance…it made sense. But he was no good at climbing, not a very quick runner, and extremely tired.

"Must I?" he groused.

She gave him a pitying smile. "Unfortunately, yes. Come, we'll be back before dinner. Don't forget your sword."

When she had said "quick," Bilbo hadn't realized she intended to run the entire way. Normally a quarter-mile run was nothing at all; but over this terrain, and at this altitude, it was quite harsh. Bilbo wondered vaguely why she wasn't even out of breath yet when he could barely get oxygen into his lungs. They reached the summit and the girl literally disappeared into a tree. Bilbo couldn't even see how she'd done it, but one moment his eyes were on her back, and the next he was looking up at her crouching in the lowest branches of an oak tree.

"What?" he gasped, struggling to breathe.

A concerned look passed over her face, shadowed by the branches. "Bilbo? Come on, up you get, my friend." And she reached a hand down for him.

He waved her off. "No that's…quite all right…really. Hobbits…don't really climb…trees…much."

Deorynn had cocked her head in confusion, then shrugged and dropped to her belly on the branch, grasping Bilbo's shoulder. "Well then, you'll be a first in this as well." When he tried to beg off again, she interrupted, "I can't have you down here while I'm at the top of the tree, Bilbo. It's too dangerous. Now come on up here."

Reluctantly, the hobbit decided that being set upon by orcs was a worse proposition than sitting in a tree. He grabbed the girl's hand and allowed himself to be pulled up.

"There now," Deorynn smiled. "That's not so bad, is it? Go on, climb. You can do it."

And he did, nearly to the top. Deorynn climbed the rest of the way and surveyed their surroundings for several minutes. Bilbo had just decided trees were not all that bad after all when she appeared beside him again.

"We're ready. Let's get back to camp."

She left the tree first, then helped Bilbo down once she was certain it was safe before taking off at a run back toward camp. Bilbo didn't even try to hide his groan this time as he hurried after her.

At least it was _downhill_ this time.

* * *

"Come on, Deorynn!" Fíli shouted. "The orcs won't give you a break when you're tired!"

Deorynn blinked the sweat from her eyes, gasping for air and trying to ignore the numerous stinging bruises Fíli and Dwalin had cheerfully inflicted over the last hour. After dinner had been declared training time for the lass, who needed to improve her skills before they reached Erebor—apparently she was to be fighting off a dragon with her throwing knives and daggers.

What exactly had she gotten herself into?

Dwalin charged her from the left, and she dropped into a backward roll that brought her to her feet to meet Fíli's double blades. She thought it odd that she had dreamed of those blades all those weeks ago; only to find out later he really _did_ wield twin swords, and terrifyingly well too. She panicked slightly as her block on one blade failed to stop the other, and jumped back.

_Too far_, her mind registered, as she tripped over Bombur and landed beside the campfire with an unceremonious thump.

Kíli snickered from his spot somewhere above her head. "Why, hello there Deorynn. Nice of you to drop in. How was training?"

She growled an insult with no real heat and jumped up again, limping toward her waiting opponents.

They both came at her at once, and she barely had time to moan before it was all over. She blocked Dwalin, spun out from Fíli's blow, but then yelped as her foot caught something and she went to her knees, an axe at her collarbone.

"_Caragu rukhs_," she cursed under her breath. Fíli smiled and gave her a hand up, while Dwalin crossed his arms over his massive chest. "What went wrong, girl?" he questioned.

Ahhh, Deorynn's favorite part—the rehash of every wrong move she'd made during the training session. Though, even _she_ had to admit it was helpful to pick apart their fights and figure out exactly what she'd done to lose.

She never made the same mistake twice, which meant she would eventually run out of mistakes to make. Or at least that's what she told herself.

So the next hour was spent discussing technique, making seemingly tiny changes to her form and blocks, and learning battle craft. When Deorynn finally did collapse beside Kíli later that evening, she could hardly move.

He smiled and grabbed her pack. She tried to dive for it, but gasped when her muscles groaned in protest. "Whoa, whoa," Kíli murmured, laughing. "I'm just laying out your bedroll for you. You look sore, I just wanted to help."

Deorynn relaxed. "Sorry. You can just put it there, if you don't mind." She motioned to a spot a few feet away that was relatively free of rocks and pine cones, but still close enough to feel the heat of the fire. Kíli nodded and swept the area with his feet before unrolling the blankets.

"Thanks," she murmured when he came back to sit beside her. Bofur had pulled out his silver pipe and was playing a sweet tune that Deorynn found quite diverting. "He's really good on that thing."

Kíli laughed. "We all learn to play an instrument as children," he said. "Did they do that in the Iron Hills?"

She nodded. "I was never any good at instruments though. I always sang instead."

"Really? What songs do you know? Maybe Bofur can play one and you can show us."

Ori had heard the exchange, and agreed eagerly with Kíli. "Yes, Deorynn! Do sing for us!"

The girl blushed deeply. "I haven't sung in so long…"

"Good thing your voice never leaves you!" Fíli chimed in. "Please?"

She sighed. "All right, all right. Bofur, mother used to sing a lullaby to me—I don't know if it's dwarvish or human, so if you don't know it, I apologize, but…."

And she began to sing. It was a haunting melody, a story of a mother and child separated and trying to find one another. There were rainstorms and earth-quakes between them; the mother had to battle a sea monster and the child had to make her way across a field of fire-snakes, but they eventually reunited and lived happily on the mountain forevermore.

Her voice cracked at the end, and she cleared her throat, embarrassed; but the dwarves all loved it and there were many claps on the back and compliments as she turned into her bedroll that night.

The last one came as she pulled the blankets to her chin and closed her eyes. Fíli and Kíli were lying nearby, and Kíli's voice came to her in a soft whisper. "You have a lovely voice, Deorynn. Thank you for singing for us tonight."

She murmured, "You're welcome," and was asleep before he could answer her.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: Hello everyone! Tonight, due to both my adoption anniversary (family feels, woot!) and my being kind of under the weather; I went a little wild on the shameless fluffy bonding (and some angst). It's a rather short one-shot, but didn't quite fit in the chapter I was trying to write, so I decided to post it this way. I hope you enjoy! And there will be another real chapter soon, I promise!

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

"_Daughter! Deorynn, wake up!"_

_The small dwarfling awoke with a cry. "Mama?" Screams rent the air outside, and something bashed against the girl's window. "What is happening?"_

"_Shh shh! Deolissê, you must hide! Stay here and do __**not**__ come out no matter what you hear, do you understand?"_

_The little girl nodded, eyes wide with terror. Her mother kissed her forehead and tore off to the next room, where her little brother slept._

_Not twenty minutes later, the little one knelt beside her mother, begging her not to go. "Kahomhilizu, khagan!"_

"_My sweet one, promise me you'll live well."_

"_I promise, khagan. Please don't leave me…."_

"_Shhhh," a soothing whisper, cracked at the end. "Be blessed, my Deorynn. Tak natu yenet, mizim."_

_One last breath, the life spark dying from her mother's eyes, and the little girl screamed._

Deorynn bolted upright, gasping for air. It was dark, the moon white against a black sky, washing the world in odd contrast. Around her, she heard snores—in varying intensities and volumes—and she slowly remembered where she was and why there were bundles in blankets all around her. The air on her cheeks was cool—almost cold—and she reached up to press her warm hands to them.

They came away wet.

She suddenly felt trapped in her bedroll; it was constricting and hot, and she needed to get _out_. She stood unsteadily, her knees shaking still from the punch of adrenaline the dream had delivered, and turned about to see who was on watch. Perhaps they'd like some company.

Golden braids blew in a soft breeze across the camp, and she relaxed a little. Picking her way between the snoring heaps, she sat down beside him quietly. He jumped a little—Bilbo wasn't the only one who knew how to be quiet—but smiled when he saw her.

"Deorynn? Can't sleep?"

She shuddered visibly. "Bad dreams."

Fíli frowned at that and pressed his shoulder to hers in a gesture of comfort. "My shift is actually just about over; Kíli's next, though, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you sat with him. Is that all right? I'll stay if you need me to."

Deorynn managed a tiny smile and shook her head. "No, Fíli, you should rest. I'll sit with Kíli."

He nodded and walked over to wake his brother. Deorynn stayed seated, beginning to regret not getting her blanket; it was a bit chilly. Not chilly enough, however, to warrant getting up—it was the thing she hated most about these dreams; they always left her lethargic and morose, keenly aware of how alone she was.

She did not turn when Kíli sat down beside her, wrapped in a blanket to ward off the night air. He did not push her, just sat with her for a few minutes.

Finally, he murmured hesitantly, "Deorynn?"

She shuddered again, involuntarily. "Hello, Kíli. It's a lovely night." She hated how dull she sounded, like the very life had been sucked from her voice.

Apparently he noticed too, she felt him stiffen beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She did, very much, but her defenses were up and she played dumb instead. "Well the moon is certainly very bright, and it's not too cold…"

To her surprise, Kíli chuckled good-naturedly. "You're playing coy, my friend. What's wrong? Fíli said you woke from bad dreams."

She shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

"I used to have them too, you know," he said softly. "Still do, sometimes. Not often, thank Mahal; but sometimes." At that, she finally looked at his face. He was frowning into the darkness, a faraway troubled look in his eyes. "I always lose Fíli, or Uncle, or both, in those dreams. I'm there, and I'm watching, but I'm not…big enough, fast enough, strong enough to save them." She recognized the haunted look he wore, and it vexed her more than she thought it would. Kíli, sweet Kíli, should not know this pain; even in his dreams.

She pressed close to him. "I….I dream of my mother's and brother's deaths." Her voice cracked. "Never their lives, never the good times we had together; only their deaths. And it's always the same, exactly how it happened."

"How _did_ it happen?"

She met his eyes, for once not even attempting to mask the pain and fear there. And she told him. He listened intently, never interrupting or showing the slightest bit of impatience.

She was shivering—both from cold and emotional exhaustion—when she finished. Kíli scooted closer and held the blanket out from his side. "Come on," he said. "It's cold out, and you're trembling." She hesitated, as she nearly always did when confronted with physical contact, but his eyes promised safety.

And the blanket _did_ look warm.

So she shifted into the circle of his arms, goose bumps forming as warmth surrounded her. There was hardly any space between them; she could feel his heart beating steadily against her shoulder blade as she leaned on him.

"There," he whispered. "You're freezing! You should have said so before."

She relaxed with a sigh. "I barely noticed, honest."

It occurred to her she should have felt uncomfortable with his proximity, but she didn't. Instead, she talked; telling Kíli all the things about her family she'd never had opportunity to share before—how her mother taught her to sing, about Talos' borderline-obsessive love of cherries, about how they would all make cinnamon biscuits together on Midwinter's Eve. She told him what her mother's last words had been and how she itched to feel her baby brother in her arms again—and ended up leaving quite an impressive wet spot of tears on his tunic before falling asleep against his shoulder.

The young dwarf sat watchfully; grateful her shift had been scheduled after his that night, and didn't wake her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Disclaimer: I don't own Middle Earth or any of its inhabitants, most specifically the Heirs of Durin; but hey, a girl can dream.

A/N: Happy Hump Day, you lot! This chapter is as action-packed as the last one was fluffy! Enjoy!

* * *

The days fell into a pleasant routine for Deorynn as the Company made their way over the Misty Mountains. Each day was spent walking briskly with her new friends—Thorin no longer growled _every_ time the girl laughed; and laugh she did, often—watching sunrises with Kíli (she suspected Thorin was unaware of that, else he might still be hostile toward her), weapons training with Fíli and Dwalin, and checking Azog's progress each evening with Bilbo.

Bilbo _was_ remarkably light on his feet, and as his body hardened and learned to fulfill the demands the traveling placed upon it, their nightly excursions came easier to him. He had also taken well to climbing trees, quickly becoming even better at it than she was. They often engaged in friendly competitions to see who could climb higher faster—during which races his smaller size and lesser weight served him well—and now the hobbit beat her more often than not.

Azog's camp was still several leagues north of them; though it was obvious to Deorynn that he had long since lost her false trail as his group drifted further south each day. She knew they would eventually pick up their real trail and begin pursuing them again in earnest. As good as Thorin's dwarves were at wilderness survival and travel; it was inevitable, with a company that size, that some signs of their presence would remain.

Signs that Azog would doubtless pick up as soon as he crossed their path.

However, Deorynn was optimistic—he wasn't gaining on them fast enough, and they were so near the High Pass now, she estimated they would be safely on the other side before Azog could even hope to find them. She kept Thorin well-abreast of her observations as well as her expectations, and was surprised that he consistently listened well and asked after certain details, never brushing her aside—though he was often cool and sometimes impatient.

But she was beginning to suspect that was just how Thorin was.

Weapons training, on the other hand, never seemed to get any easier. Deorynn wondered if she'd ever be able to beat Dwalin and Fíli together—although a few days ago she had managed to "kill" Fíli in a quite effective, though slightly dishonorable, way.

It had been near the end of that night's session; she was sore and winded and frustrated, as was normal during these lessons. Dwalin had her backed against a tree and aimed a leg sweep with his axe at her. She had hopped over it, landing a glancing blow on his shoulder with the hilt of her dagger as she came down; when Fíli pulled that annoying move he loved that put him right where she landed, his blades flashing toward her neck. Needled, she had ducked low, driving her shoulder hard into his torso. The move, while not following the proper rules for blade sparring, _had_ been effective at throwing him backward onto the ground. Deorynn had followed, a hoarse battle cry on her lips as she leapt on top of him, pinning one sword to his chest with her knee and the other to the ground with her foot, crossing her blades at his collarbone and growling, "Dead."

At which point, she had felt the cold steel of Dwalin's axe on the back of her neck.

"Dead."

Fíli had easily forgiven her the transgression, though Dwalin made her run blocks and parries for the next hour as punishment.

Still, she could tell she was improving. Whether she was improving fast enough; well, that remained to be seen.

* * *

On the seventh day since she had found the Company, Deorynn watched with gentle amusement as Ori's face scrunched in concentration. He was using the last light of the day to draw a picture of the tiny purple flowers on a marjoram plant while she gathered leaves from the surrounding ones. The leaves were generally best used just before the herb flowered, but they would still make a tasty addition to whatever Bombur cooked up that night for dinner, and he was always grateful when she found some herbs for him. Ori had taken to accompanying her on these short expeditions, soaking up every bit of knowledge she could give him about herbs, flowers, and poisonous plants, and recording all in the little book he carried. She had seen a couple of those drawings, and she was impressed—he had a very good eye for detail, and a steady hand, making him quite the artist.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the awareness of a gnawing sense that something wasn't right. She straightened, looking for danger but finding none. The long grass in the field swayed with a slight breeze, and the sun was just disappearing behind the mountains to her west. Ori was still five feet away drawing, there was no trouble in sight, and all was quiet.

Too quiet.

The birds had too suddenly ceased their song, and the only sound she could hear was the wind in the trees. Instantly, her senses sharpened—she could smell the scent of the marjoram and wildflowers around her, feel every ridge and fold of the leaves in her hand, see vividly the field they were standing in, each contrast more distinct and every detail more obvious.

"Ori," she called quietly, infusing a tiny bit of urgency into her voice so he would know she wasn't making casual conversation. Ori looked up.

"Something is wrong. Come closer to me, please."

To his credit, the young dwarf did as she asked without question; tucking his book into his coat and pulling out his slingshot and a smooth stone. Deorynn turned slowly, unsheathing her daggers, alert for anything out of the ordinary. She heard a tiny growl and whirled to face the noise.

Nothing.

Ori was alert, as well, and let a stone fly in the direction of the noise. There was the sound of stone hitting flesh, a pained whine followed by an angry snarl, and then a moment that made Deorynn's blood run cold:

A wolf's howl rang hauntingly through the air, announcing the presence of the pack.

"Oh no," Deorynn murmured. With a cacophony of growls and snarls, the wolves revealed themselves, seeming to materialize out of the long grass. They were closing in slowly, deliberately leaving an open spot in their circle to try and goad Ori and her into running—she knew wolves hunted humans, who were viewed as large prey, by either chasing them into ambushes or making them run until they were too tired to continue.

Fortunately, the camp—and eleven more well-armed dwarves—was not far. _Un_fortunately, neither of them stood a chance of outrunning twenty wolves, even the short distance they needed to.

However, one of them _might_ stand a chance outrunning two or three wolves.

"Ori," she murmured, her heart racing. "They'll want to separate us, and we've got to let them. We can't outrun them if they're all chasing us. I will do everything I can to keep the majority of them here; you run to camp and raise the alarm. Here," she handed him one of the long daggers, "take this and stab anything that gets too close."

Ori handed her the dagger back and drew his own, a stocky short blade that looked exceedingly sharp. At her glance of confusion, he smirked. "Do you really think Dori would let me go anywhere with only a slingshot for protection?"

She nodded shortly. "Excellent. Let me engage them first, and you break and run first shot you get, understand?" He nodded, serious but determined.

With an angry growl of her own, Deorynn leapt for the nearest wolf.

It danced aside, but Deorynn anticipated that and followed, slicing into its flank with one of her sharp daggers. The other wolves, clearly not used to fighting prey that actually fought back, converged on her to protect their whining pack mate.

She did not have time to look and see if Ori was running yet; she was busy slashing and stabbing, kicking and throwing off the ones that jumped her. Dwalin's voice rose unbidden in her mind: _any enemy you merely harm will just jump back into the melee the moment your attention is off it, so make each blow count. Kill or maim, don't injure._ She aimed for throats and eyes, trying her best to ignore the sundry small wounds they were inflicting as they scratched and bit at her. One of them made a go at her ankle, taking it between its jaws and yanking. She yelped in pain, but her leather boot protected her from most of the damage its teeth could have done.

The next wolf, unfortunately, was smarter.

Just as she slit the throat of a silver wolf jumping into her face, intense pain lanced up her calf, drawing a scream from her throat. She tried to pull away, but the wolf had her leg in his jaws and wasn't letting go, twisting his head this way and that to try and unbalance her.

She pivoted on the trapped leg, crying out in agony as she did, and stabbed both daggers into the base of the animal's head. Soundlessly, the grip on her leg loosened, and she jumped aside. She didn't know how many she'd killed, but there were still about a dozen of them circling her; more carefully now, calm and calculating, waiting for her to succumb to blood loss from her multiple wounds. The leg was the worst; she could feel blood streaming down her calf and into her boot.

She noted with relief that Ori was nowhere in sight. She hoped that meant he had made it back, not that he had fallen on the way. If she could just hold out until the others got here…

Two of the wolves jumped for her at once. She turned and aimed her bloody dagger so one of them impaled itself, while chopping the other in the neck with the side of her hand. Focused on them, she didn't see the one that dashed at her legs, tripping her up. She landed flat on her back, breath knocked out of her and one of the daggers slipping from her fingers to land a few feet away.

That was all the invitation the wolves needed. Two of them jumped on her, and one grabbed her wrist between its teeth with a snarl.

Deorynn shouted in alarm, watching in seeming slow motion as the wolf crouching on her chest brought its jaws down to her exposed throat…

She faintly heard a shout, but the blood was rushing through her ears so loudly she couldn't tell. She _did_ see clearly the yellow-fletched arrow protruding from the skull of the wolf atop her.

_Kíli,_ her mind registered slowly.

But there was no time to dwell on it. She staggered upright, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, and brandished her remaining dagger, spinning around to look for a target. Her friends were there, and the wolves had turned tail and run within seconds of their arrival. She watched them flee, her mind not quite understanding the fight was won; so when she felt a firm grip on her shoulder, she spun with a cry, her blade singing…

…as Fíli jumped back to avoid being sliced from ear to ear. Deorynn gasped, the dagger falling from numb fingers as he said something to her, doubtless intended to be comforting. She couldn't understand him. She recognized the words, but everything was still so confusing, she was stuck in a flurry of claws and teeth and steel, she couldn't understand.

She recognized this feeling, she realized suddenly. She had felt it a few times over the years, after surviving close calls. It was just shock. She knew how to handle this.

Deorynn crouched and put her head between her knees.

_It's over. Wolves are gone. Friends are here. You're okay, it's over._

Slowly she became aware of her surroundings again—the smell of blood and grass, the wind against her skin, the pain of her injuries. She looked up slowly, to find herself surrounded by concerned dwarves for the second time. The scene was so familiar she almost smiled.

Almost.

Fíli touched her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She nodded faintly. "Hurts," she mumbled. Where a moment ago she'd been all fire and ferocity, now she felt drained and a little sick.

Oin was kneeling beside her as well, and she distantly noticed Kíli standing guard nearby, scanning the tree line with an arrow nocked and ready. "Ori?" she murmured.

"He's fine, lassie, just a little scratched up. Come now; let's have a look at you." Oin sat her gently on her rear and started checking her over for injuries. She acquiesced to the probing quietly, whimpering when he reached her bloody calf.

"Mahal," Fíli whispered, but Oin glared to shut him up.

"We'll wrap this to staunch the bleeding," he said clearly to Deorynn, "but we'll clean you up properly once we get back to camp."

The wound was wrapped quickly, and Oin insisted the girl be carried, in the interest of time; for the sun had well and truly set by now, and twilight had descended upon the mountains. Fíli lifted her easily from the ground and she wrapped her arms round his neck.

She put her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes to quell the nausea that gripped her, trying not to think about the pain as they made the short trip back to the camp.

* * *

Thorin's eyes scanned their surroundings as they walked; he knew the wolves probably wouldn't come back, but there were other dangers in these woods. Besides, seeing the girl in his nephew's arms, as pale as the moon rising in the darkening sky, made him oddly uncomfortable. As much as he didn't like her presence here, she was a good lass, and he did not wish her ill. His men seemed to have taken to her as well, drawing her out of her (mostly) self-imposed solitude and accepting her as one of their own. It had been a slow process for some of them—Oin was only just now coming to accept her, and Gloin still didn't—but it was difficult to remain cold toward such a lively girl who was constantly aiming to help.

It was like trying to _not_ like Ori. Some people may judge him for his interest in books and knowledge over learning the ways of the forge or being a skilled fighter, but the lad just had a way about him that made it near impossible to dislike him once you got past any prejudices regarding scholarly dwarves.

And if he was honest with himself—which he wasn't, always—she had even begun to prove herself _useful_ among them. Her information regarding Azog's whereabouts was invaluable, and she was constantly putting her skills to good use; from gathering herbs and helping Kíli hunt, to giving Oin her salves, to contributing to Ori's stores of knowledge.

Thorin sighed.

This would all be so much easier if she was someone he could hate.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Disclaimer: So I checked again, just to be sure: I still own nothing but Deorynn. And she's beginning to hate me, so.

A/N: Well, this has kind of taken off in a way I didn't expect. We were supposed to be AT the High Pass by now, but those wolves had other ideas…

Many thanks to miller330 for her (his? Sorry) knowledge regarding wolf bites, and Google for photos of dog bites (but seriously—OUCH). Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Fíli set Deorynn down gently by the fire when they got back to camp, prying the bloody dagger from her left hand and taking the one Kíli handed him that she had dropped during the fight. The girl promptly turned over onto her hands and knees, crawled a few yards, and vomited on the forest floor. Ori, sporting a painful-looking gash across one cheek and a bandaged arm, gasped at the sight of her and hovered; while Kíli knelt beside her, a hand on her back. She was trembling like a leaf.

"How can I help?" he asked Oin.

The older dwarf was pushing her back around to sit facing the fire. Kíli helped, and presently they had her sitting where the heat and light could reach her, Kíli's chest to her back. Oin began unlacing her boot below the mangled leg and grunted at the bite marks in the leather. "I don't know how bad it is yet; mostly I need you to keep her still. This is going to hurt. Ori, get my pack."

Ori rushed to the other side of the camp, and Fíli knelt across from Oin, holding Deorynn's other leg down firmly, careful to avoid the smaller lacerations spread across her skin. When Ori returned, Oin instructed everyone who wasn't helping to stay back, sent Ori for some hot water from the kettle, gave a few short instructions to Fíli and Kíli, and pulled on the boot. Deorynn whimpered as it came off, and the sound was like a knife in Kíli's heart. His stomach twisted as Oin cut away the bandages and the bottom half of her thick leggings, revealing two large puncture wounds on each side of the leg, surrounded by smaller ones in the shape of a narrow mouth. They were bleeding copiously, and even under all the blood, Kíli could see the swelling and bruising that was already forming. He winced in sympathy; it looked extremely painful.

Oin bathed the injury with the warm water and a soft cloth, causing Deorynn to toss her head back onto Kíli's shoulder with a hiss. Tears squeezed themselves from her eyes, shut tight against the pain, and Kíli felt her trembling intensify. He squeezed her arms tight against her torso, and she grabbed his hand.

When Oin rubbed a salve into the first of the puncture wounds, to prevent infection, Deorynn cried out and squeezed Kíli's hand so hard his knuckles popped in protest. He murmured in her ear, "You're going to be all right, _idúzhib_, you're doing so well." She called his name plaintively, softly, and he squeezed her tightly in response. "Just stay still, Deorynn."

But the second puncture wound was worse than the first—it had torn deeply when the animal kept yanking its head around to pull her off balance—and the moment the salve touched her, Deorynn twisted in his arms and tried to kick; Fíli and Oin pressed firmly on her legs to keep her still. She was clenching her teeth and doing everything in her power not to scream.

Kíli wondered how long that could last.

She went limp in his arms a few moments later as her body succumbed to the pain. Oin muttered a thanks to Mahal that she would not be awake for the stitching—the second wound on the outside of her leg was going to need it. He worked quickly, disinfecting, stitching, and wrapping the punctures before he sat back for a breather.

"What about the rest of these?" Fíli asked, eyeing the numerous smaller scratches and bruises that littered her visible skin.

Oin sighed. "We'll clean them with warm water, but I can't use the salve on all of them. We're already going to be using it on those nasty bite wounds every day for a while, and I only have a limited amount."

"Will they get infected?" Kíli asked.

"Not likely, if they're cleaned and properly cared for." Oin took the bowl of bloody water away from camp to dump it where it wouldn't attract predators. Ori was still hovering uncomfortably several feet away, a horrified look on his face.

"I shouldn't have left her," he mumbled. Fíli heard him and turned. "Ori, you followed the plan. You came for help—and defeated three of the wolves on your own in the process. You did the right thing."

Ori was shaking his head, and Kíli, as much as he hated seeing Deorynn hurt, agreed with Fíli. But he also knew if their positions had been reversed—and _he_ had left the girl to fight off a pack of wolves alone—he would have been devastated if she were injured. So he flashed Ori a tired smile and said, "Fíli is right, Ori, you did well."

But it wasn't until Dori, Nori, Dwalin, _and_ Thorin all said the same thing that Ori looked only slightly less ashamed. By then, Oin had returned and treated the rest of Deorynn's wounds—luckily, the wolf that had grabbed her wrist in its mouth hadn't had time to bite down hard and cause any real damage to her arm, and the rest were superficial scratches that would probably hurt but heal up nicely. He looked at Kíli when he was done and handed him a tea sachet.

"When she wakes up, have her drink this. It will dull the pain enough for her to sleep through the night." Kíli nodded solemnly, and Oin got up to talk to Thorin.

The king looked up as the healer sat down beside him. "How bad is she?" he asked tiredly.

"She will live, if we prevent any infection of the blood. The wounds themselves are not life-threatening, but who knows what manner of filth that wolf passed on through his bite?"

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Thorin," Oin murmured. "She cannot walk. Not yet."

The king swallowed. "How long?"

"Three days at least. And then she'll need a cane or crutch to walk with."

Thorin let out a slow breath. "We cannot delay; Azog is still on our trail. But we cannot abandon her either."

Bilbo suddenly cut in from Thorin's right, having evidently heard enough of the conversation to know what was going on. "Perhaps we won't have to." Thorin glared at him for eavesdropping, but the hobbit squared his shoulders and went on. "She's been teaching me how to track Azog and what she looks for on those evening excursions into the trees. _I_ can track him. At least well enough to tell if he's gaining on us. The creature hasn't even found our trail yet, Thorin; we are well ahead of him."

Thorin looked long and hard at him, then slowly nodded. "Dwalin, how long do you estimate you can carry that girl on your back without stopping?"

Dwalin looked serious. "Several hours. I've carried packs that weighed more than that slight thing."

Thorin nodded again, then announced to the camp in general. "We will move out after everyone's had a good night's rest—Bofur, take Deorynn's watch tonight. Get some sleep, all of you."

* * *

Kíli didn't move from his place at Deorynn's back. He knew he would not, and hoped his uncle wouldn't try to make him. Thorin looked hard at him, but said nothing. Fíli brought him a blanket, then threw another one over the still-unconscious girl, and made his bed a few feet away. His brother flashed him a bright smile before curling up and falling asleep quickly enough to make Kíli slightly jealous.

Fíli could sleep anywhere, anytime. It was a valuable skill, and one that Kíli had yet to master.

But he did try; he settled his back against the log behind him, rested his head against Deorynn's soft hair, and closed his eyes. He was just beginning to drift off when she started awake, accidentally punching his cheek with her head.

"Ow."

Deorynn craned her head around to look at him, then suddenly seemed to notice her leg. She hissed in pain and a tremor ran through her slender frame.

"Here," Kíli murmured, crawling out from behind her and pouring the hot water from the kettle over a sweet-smelling tea sachet. "Oin said this will help with the pain and allow you to sleep. I think it's some of your Rivendell herbs, I hear they're more potent than others." He gave the girl an encouraging smile, and she managed one back.

"Thanks," she answered. "For the tea, and for saving my life earlier. I saw it was your arrow that got the one about to rip my throat out."

She felt Kíli wince as he settled in behind her again, and regretted her choice of wording. "It was the least I could do," he responded. "I only wish we'd gotten there sooner."

She shrugged. "I'll live. It hurts, but I've travelled through worse before." Kíli resisted the urge to stroke her hair, and instead settled for squeezing her arm where it rested under his hand.

After a moment, she asked, "Is Ori really okay?"

Kíli chuckled. "Yeah, he is. He's got a scratch on his cheek that might make a dashing scar before all's said and done; and they slashed his arm up a bit, but he'll be just fine. We had to convince him he'd done the right thing leaving you, though. He was pretty upset about it."

She twisted to see his face. "I hope you set him straight. We didn't stand a chance against all of them at once."

"Oh, we set him straight."

The girl turned back around and leaned against his chest. "Good."

Deorynn sat sipping her tea, recalling something Kíli had said earlier. It was while she'd been lost in a red haze of pain, Oin prodding around the bite wound—disinfecting it, no doubt, though she'd barely understood that at the time. Kíli had been speaking into her ear, probably trying to calm her, but she thought he'd called her _idúzhib_—a Khuzdul endearment that no one had _ever_ used on her. Her mother had been the only one who used endearments to her, and she had preferred _mizim_—"darling"._ Idúzhib_ was much more…personal. It was something one would call someone of great importance to them—it did mean "diamond", after all—which made her think she must have imagined it.

She opened her mouth to ask Kíli about it when she heard a soft snore behind her. Careful not to jar him, she turned slowly to see his face.

He was leaned back against a thick log, his mouth slightly open, face peaceful in sleep. He looked entirely innocent and so content that Deorynn couldn't help but smile. She swept a piece of hair out of his face and turned, settling back against his warm chest and closing her own eyes. The tea had made her brain pleasantly fuzzy, and it was probably better she didn't ask the question—she had likely imagined the word anyway.

Which begged the question: why would she imagine something like _that_?

But she didn't get to think much on it before sleep claimed her.

* * *

Fíli awoke the next morning to what sounded like an argument between his brother and his wounded friend.

"No, Kíli. I won't do it. I'm perfectly capable—"

"Will you just stop it? You can't walk on that leg!"

"That far? Trust me, I'll manage just fine."

"Oin said you're not to walk on your own, and besides, you're not supposed to leave camp alone anyway!"

"You are _not_ carrying me to go relieve myself!"

Fíli couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped him. He opened his eyes to find them both glaring at him.

"What? You think that's funny, do you?" Deorynn growled. Fíli reflected that her growl was nearly as effective as his mother's.

"I do, as a matter of fact."

The girl struggled upright, and Kíli put out a hand to help her. She slapped him away, lost her balance in the process, and ended up back in the dirt on her rump. Kíli just glared.

Fíli sighed. "Deorynn, come now. Let him help you."

The stubborn set of her chin wavered just a little.

"I can do it. I'd have to do it if I was alone."

"But you're not alone," Kíli countered.

Deorynn stared up at him, effectively silenced. Defeated, the girl reached out to Kíli and he helped her stand shakily. "Oin would kill me for this, but how about we compromise? You don't put any weight on that leg; just lean on me."

Fíli watched them go with a fond smile. The girl was too independent for her own good; not that it was surprising, given her past. And Kíli was just stubborn enough to counter her while being gentle enough not to get her defenses up.

Most of the time.

They took their time that morning getting ready. Bombur fixed up a large breakfast to make up for the fact that none of them had really eaten the night before; and Oin was pleased to see Deorynn ate a hearty portion. That alone alleviated some of his fears about infection—if one had taken hold in the night, she wouldn't have been hungry. After breakfast, he sat the girl down and cut away her bandages. He heard her try to suppress a gasp at the sight of her own leg.

It looked somewhat disconcerting, he had to give her that. Her entire calf was swollen and discolored—the bruising had been rather extensive—and the four largest punctures were red and deep, surrounded by the marks of the wolf's smaller teeth. The girl looked morbidly fascinated as she studied them, pressing lightly against her skin and sucking in air between her teeth. Oin slapped her hand away. "What? You didn't know it would hurt?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. Just…evaluating. I usually have to figure out how bad a wound is partly by pressing on it until I can't stand the pain. The less pressure I have to apply, the worse off I am."

It made sense, to a degree. For someone who had to manage on her own, the main concern when injured would be the ability to travel—which was directly tied to how much the injury hurt.

"Well," Oin said briskly. "That's not necessary today. This actually doesn't look as bad as it could, to be honest. I'm going to put some more of the salve on these wounds and wrap your leg again."

Deorynn nodded, and the wound was treated and bandaged with minimal fuss, though it still hurt her pretty badly. When Oin finished, she went to stand, only to be dragged back down by the older dwarf's strong arm.

"You're not to walk yet," he stated.

"But—"

"NO." Oin glared. "If you try walking too soon you could hurt yourself worse. Three days, lassie. Three days off your feet."

The girl looked horrified. "No! I'll never be able to catch up to you all if I wait for three whole days!"

Oin stopped, confused. "Catch up?"

Kíli wanted to howl with frustration. Did she _honestly_ think they'd leave her here, injured, with animals and orcs all around? The woman was out of her mind! He took her wrist in his hand, a little more firmly than was strictly necessary, and held her gaze.

"We're not leaving you. You're coming with us."

She blinked in confusion. "But….how?"

Dwalin towered over her, relieved of his pack and most of his weapons. "I'm going to carry you."

A look crossed her face that Kíli was certain meant she was about to balk, but she seemed to think better of it.

"Oh."

The warrior smiled at her. "There's no shame in it, lass. We would do the same for any one of this Company that was hurt."

She nodded, still looking a bit abashed, but allowed Kíli to help her onto Dwalin's back.

"Look at the bright side," Dwalin said. "At least you're not in a sack this time."

That drew a laugh from the girl, as they set off east, each hour bringing them closer to the High Pass.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me, and I certainly make no money off any of it.

A/N: Hello, readers! No, I have not died; although the nasty respiratory infection I've been fighting has left me feeling little better than if I _had_….still, I come bearing a new chapter! It may not be as good quality as the previous ones; I apologize in advance for that, but this one has been sticky for me from the get-go. The upcoming chapters will be both better and longer—I know so because I've already got part of Chapter 21 written! However, there is a good amount of fluff in this one, as well as some highly amusing (in my mind) Kíli/Ryn tension. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Deorynn discovered two new things over the next three days of travel. The first was that riding piggyback for upwards of ten hours straight was not at all comfortable. In addition to the throbbing pain her leg wound provided, she fought cramps in both her thighs and shoulders each night. Luckily, the valerian tea Oin gave her daily was not choosey about which pain to address—it dulled the throbbing in her leg as well as the ache in her muscles.

It also left her a little bit on the giddy, pleasantly fuzzy side, like she'd had one ale too many. Fíli, Kíli, and Bilbo all seemed to find this wildly entertaining, and took great amusement in the fact that the girl would become much more giggly and affectionate in the evenings after her tea.

But one night, Deorynn almost wished she'd forgone the tea and just dealt with the pain.

It was the third night since the attack, and Oin had just allowed her to stand on her own two feet for the first time in three days. She was a bit shaky and sore, despite the tea, but decided a trip to the bank of the stream to wash was definitely in order. Kíli insisted on accompanying her; and though she fought him on it, Oin agreed. The girl had been taught from her cradle to do as a healer said, so she acquiesced, grumpily.

It was probably a good thing, though, she realized as she nearly fell over three steps from the fire. Kíli caught her elbow and steadied her without comment.

Not that she would admit any such thing.

They made it to the mountain stream without much incident, and Deorynn looked at Kíli as she knelt by the water.

"You're going to turn around, aren't you?"

He looked momentarily confused. "Why?"

The girl glared, as well as she was able while under the fuzzy influence of valerian. "Because I'm going to wash the grime off myself and put on clean clothes. It's certainly been long enough, have you seen the state of my hair and clothes? Don't answer that."

Kíli blushed, even in the dim light, and turned his back, walking a few paces to give her some privacy.

It was far too cold to take long, so bathing oil and all, Deorynn only took a few minutes to finish. She wrung out her now-clean clothes and stood, thinking just how nice it was to have soft, clean fabric against her skin as she re-tied her leather corset. "Kíli!" she called, "I'm decent, can you help me with these-"

Her question was cut off as she tripped over a tree root and straight into the dwarf prince's arms.

She _should_ have stood immediately on her own two feet and laughed it off. She _should_ have pulled away and maintained her distance. She _should_ have punched him in the shoulder playfully.

She should have done _anything_ except what she actually did.

Surprised by the feel of warm, strong arms around her, Deorynn did not laugh, punch, or pull away; instead she stayed where she was for a moment, trying to register what was happening, before her body betrayed her and she tightened her own arms round his ribs and burrowed into his heat. It was all quite pleasant, despite the distant alarm bells going off in her head that were drowned out completely by his woodsy, masculine scent.

"Mmmph. You smell good," She muttered into his neck. She felt a shudder rack his frame, and wondered momentarily if perhaps_ she_ didn't smell good (but that didn't make sense, she smelled like peppermint bathing oil), or if he was getting ready to push her away. Before she could panic, however, she felt his face press against her damp hair and his breath brush her ear as he whispered back,

"So do you."

Instinctively, Deorynn knew what the heat that bloomed in her stomach meant, even though it was nothing she had ever experienced before. She had heard people speak of this—in tavern corners, in giggles in dark alcoves as she passed by—this swooping sensation in her belly, this tingle in her fingertips where she felt the texture of his cloak, this thrill that ran up and down her spine as his breath ghosted against her skin.

_Desire_.

Fear tightened in a heavy knot in her chest that overrode even the effects of the valerian as she jumped back suddenly. She struggled to regain her equilibrium at the sight of her friend in the failing light—_why did he have to be so handsome?_—and stuttered, "Yes well, that would be the…the peppermint oil. Yes. Here."

She dumped her wet things in his arms unceremoniously and stumbled back to camp, directing him to hang them on one of the cooking rods near the fire. He did as requested, and they worked in silence arranging her things so they would be dry by morning.

And though they sat in their customary positions by the fire—with Deorynn sandwiched between Fíli and Kíli—she carefully avoided touching him, and slept further from them that night than she had since they had become friends.

Because absolutely no good at all could come of any situation that included her, Kíli, and _desire._

_Damned valerian tea._

* * *

The second thing Deorynn discovered, quite by accident, was that Fíli and Kíli were both rather fond of nicknames. They had several for each other, she noticed, aside from the common _nadad_ and _nadadith_ ("brother" and "little brother"). They seldom used them around others; but often when they were alone, or nearly so. "Fee" and "Kee" were frequent usages, as well as _bazhundush_ for Kíli ("Raven") and _limul_ for Fíli ("Gold"). She rather thought it was quite endearing, listening to them banter back and forth—for they would often call each other a new nickname for a day—usually something vaguely insulting—and then forget all about it the next day. But the few that stuck, she remembered and smiled about when she was certain they weren't looking.

Evidently, the next day, she wasn't sneaky enough, as they caught her smiling like an idiot when Fíli called Kíli his _bazhundush_, quietly. Kíli's immediate response upon seeing her face was to blush and turn away, but Fíli just laughed and started whispering to his brother, whose face lit up with that mischievous look Deorynn simultaneously feared and loved.

Later that afternoon as they walked together, she learned what it was all about.

"Hey Kíli," Fíli began in a low voice, speaking over her head where she walked between them.

"Yes, brother?"

"I think it's about time our lovely friend here had a few nicknames. You know, now that she's one of us."

"I couldn't agree more."

Deorynn was torn between amazement at their declaration that she was _one of them_ and horror at what awful nickname they might assign her. She pulled a face.

"No thanks, I don't need a nickname."

"Nope," Kíli interrupted. "Too late for that. First order of business: a shortened version of Deorynn."

"Dee," Fíli suggested. The girl glared, and Kíli looked unimpressed.

"Okay," he tried again. "Deor."

Kíli shook his head while Deorynn looked mildly horrified. "Sounds too…masculine. How about Ryn?"

Fíli tested it on his tongue. "Hello, Ryn. Goodbye, Ryn. At your service, Ryn. I rather like that one, nadadith, well done!"

Kíli preened. This drew a snort from Deorynn that she couldn't have controlled if she tried.

"Very well," Fíli announced, still speaking quietly, because clearly nicknames were a secret thing amongst these two. "Next, one that suits her looks or personality."

This gave them a bit more trouble, to Deorynn's amusement. They went through _azanul_ ("of the shadows") and _gimli_ ("star"—although Kíli looked terrified at the very suggestion, she later found out because Gloin's son was named Gimli), before Fíli snickered and suggested _tumunbund, _a term she recognized as one he often used on his brother, meaning "hollow head." Unable to kick him as she desired, due to the necessary focus and effort going into walking (which was still difficult despite her joy at not having to ride Dwalin again), Deorynn settled for cuffing the dwarf on the back of the head, garnering a dangerously irritated look from Thorin. Abashed, she drew her hand back and studied the surrounding forest dutifully. Both boys smirked at that, though they were silent for a little while, listening to Bofur singing a cheery tune.

After a few minutes, Kíli nudged his brother. "Fíli? How about Anîrm?"

"Joyful?" Fíli studied the girl for a second. She blushed; it was not a bad nickname, as they went. "I like it."

Kíli beamed. "Done. Deorynn, you shall henceforth be known to the Sons of Durin as Ryn or Anîrm. What say you?"

She looked at the two young dwarfs on either side of her, wondering what in the name of Mahal she'd done right to deserve the privilege of their friendship, and nodded slowly, "I approve."

They reached the pass that mid-afternoon. The day grew dark quickly—there was a storm brewing, Deorynn could see. The wind blew restlessly, and there was the smell of rain on the air. Thorin did not want to stop until they were safely over the pass, so they pressed on, even when the rain started falling steadily. They did not stop when the rain started driving down in sheets. They did not stop when their path became little more than a ledge overlooking a huge cliff.

And they did not stop when the thunder started.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make even less.

* * *

On they travelled, through the dark and the rain, on a cliff side that would have been unforgiving and treacherous even at the best of times. Deorynn picked her way along carefully on the wet rock between Bofur and Fíli, trying to keep an eye on both Kíli and Bilbo as well. This path was terrifying, and she was afraid for all of them.

Thorin shouted words (of encouragement, she hoped) from the front of the group, but it was near impossible to hear him over the rain and thunder. She heard a shout of alarm behind her and turned to see Bofur and Dwalin pulling Bilbo back from the edge.

"Bilbo!" she shouted, and he looked at her with wide eyes. "Be careful!"

He nodded, sending her a weak smile and a gesture of acquiescence.

A few moments later, she heard Thorin cry, during a break in the wind, "We must find shelter!"

Deorynn couldn't have agreed more. Her relief was short-lived, however, as Dwalin shouted, "Look out!"

She looked up to see a giant boulder flying through the air toward them. _Literally flying_. Her brain barely had time to register the unbelievable sight before the rock hurled into the cliff above their heads. Everyone was shouting in alarm, someone called "take cover!", and Deorynn found herself pinned up against the stone. Looking to her left, she saw Fíli, his arms both thrown out; one against her stomach, and the other against Kíli's chest, holding them both as far from the danger as it was possible to get.

There was no time to feel gratitude or anything else, as rocks of every size rained down on their heads. Deorynn barely flinched away in time to prevent her foot being crushed by a stone the size of a small pony. The noise was terrific—she wanted to clap her hands over her ears to protect them. She barely heard Balin's amazed yell of, "This is no thunderstorm; it's a thunder battle! Look!"

She forced herself to look up, despite her terror, and what she saw was shocking beyond anything she'd experienced in her lifetime: a shadowy, towering form materialized across the valley, wielding another monstrous boulder. It took a moment, but she soon saw the form of a giant—not a giant that fought with stones, but a giant _made of_ stone. Her knees felt weak and she fought a sudden wave of dizziness.

How were they ever going to survive this?

"Well bless me!" Bofur hollered, stepping closer to the edge in fascination. "The legends are true; giants! Stone giants!"

Deorynn tugged on Bofur's sleeve urgently, trying to move him back; but his gaze was fixed on the massive boulder the giant in front of them had just thrown. It sailed past them and struck another giant behind them with a concussive force so loud it shook the already-unstable path beneath their feet. Deorynn shrieked in alarm as Bofur lost his balance.

Dwalin reached across Bilbo and seized Bofur's cloak, both of them yanking him back as Thorin bellowed, "Take cover, you fool!"

More stones rained down from above, and the ground did not stop shaking; quite the contrary, it intensified. Deorynn was now holding tight to both Bofur's sleeve and Fíli's arm. She nearly toppled over the edge when he yanked away from her quite suddenly, and shouted, "Kíli! Grab my hand!"

Glancing past him, Deorynn could see Kíli and the others drifting away from them.

_What?_

"Kíli!" she shouted. His eyes locked with hers, and it struck her that he looked as terrified as she felt. As much as she'd spent the last twenty-four hours wishing she hadn't let him hold her that night by the stream; she suddenly realized she would have given anything in that moment to be in his arms, safe and warm.

Bofur grabbed her arm. "Look, lass!"

She looked up, where he was pointing, and it all made sense. Their ragtag group had been straddling the knees of yet another stone giant. As the massive creature began to stand, their company had been split in half.

_Mahal._

She watched, equal parts fascinated and terrified, as one of the first stone giants approached theirs. A scream of terror ripped unbidden from her throat, as the new one head-butted it, like an oddly horrifying (and loud) imitation of how she'd seen dwarf brothers greet one another. The thought had no time to develop further, though, as the ground shifted swiftly to her left. She could see the other half of their group—and Kíli—moving fast beside them; crashing into the side of a mountain (at least she hoped with every fiber of her being it was an actual mountain and not another giant). Thorin, thinking quickly, motioned to the others; and Deorynn squeezed Fíli's arm and pointed needlessly. His eyes, like hers, were fixed on the small, shadowy figure of one particular dwarf—and the moment he stepped off the knee of the stone giant (well, hurled himself off of it would be more accurate), they both breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

Tiny, Fíli reflected, because their own precarious ledge began moving swiftly again a second later, as their giant stood and began to fight in earnest with the one that had hit him (_it?_). It was all so confusing, so massive and so loud, and perhaps Deorynn could not be blamed for simply clutching her friend and doing everything she could to keep her balance. Fíli held her close and hollered in her ear:

"Ryn! We're going to be okay!"

She looked up at him, a horrible feeling settling in his gut that he was wrong, but she nodded and he prayed to all the Valar that he wouldn't be made a liar. Fíli glanced over at Bilbo, relieved that he was being flanked by both Bofur and Dwalin—if anyone could protect him properly, it was them—and adjusted his weight as the giant moved again.

Suddenly, the movement of the ledge seemed to change from controlled and relatively smooth, if terrifying, to entirely chaotic. He heard Ryn scream again as the world began turning and her feet left the stone when it dropped abruptly several inches. She wasn't the only one—all the dwarves shouted in ill-concealed fear, including him; he landed securely on the rock again, but heard her gasp in pain as she slammed down less gracefully. It was then that he vaguely noticed the other half of their group pass his through his field of vision, watching them.

But then the cliff face was hurtling toward him at a rate he knew would leave him crushed against it. Fíli had no time to react; he had lost hold of Ryn at some point and was shouting her name hoarsely, scrabbling for a hold on both the rock and her. He watched in horror as she dropped to her knees on the ledge and curled in on herself, evidently hoping there would be a tiny void when the giant knee met the unforgiving cliff before them.

His gaze barely had time to shift upward before the crash came. It was painfully loud, his ears were ringing, and he was flying through the air briefly. He smacked the opposing cliff face and fell to a thick ledge, yelping in pain as his head connected with the hard stone, rolling a foot before he managed to control his movement. Someone landed next to him, another on top of him, and all was a mess of limbs and confused shouts for a moment.

Then it was over.

He tried to sit up, saw his uncle headed straight for him, and deduced that they must have been…dropped…on the same mountain as the rest of their Company. _Thank Mahal for that._ There were panicked shouts, but they hardly registered past his relief at seeing Thorin, and behind him, the only other face he truly cared about, eyes locked on his.

Thorin stopped for only a moment in front of his nephew, placing a hand on his head and looking him over, before his attention was diverted and he disappeared over the ledge. Fíli shouted and jumped up, unable to do more than hold tightly to Dwalin's back as he lay on his stomach over the edge, ready to catch Thorin, who was apparently trying to save Bilbo from falling. His uncle slipped a moment later, and Dwalin was there, pulling him back up with a great shout. Fíli pulled on his pack, helping where he could, and shouting desperately over his shoulder,

"Ryn! Help!"

But no response was forthcoming, and when they got Thorin back to safety, the young Heir whirled about, wondering why his friend had not jumped in to help—she was always so eager to assist, it wasn't…normal…for her to be….

Gone.

The cold fist of panic seized his throat. Where _was _she? He peered over the edge, perhaps she was hanging on as Bilbo had been; but he saw nothing except darkness and rain and _oh Mahal, Deorynn…_

He felt a hand clap his shoulder and stared unseeing past his brother's joyful face. "Fíli, nadad, I thought I'd lost you for a moment."

But Fíli wasn't listening, he was turning on the spot, searching the faces…Bombur, Bofur, Bifur, Thorin, Kíli, Bilbo….still not seeing the one he looked for.

Kíli shook his shoulder insistently, and he met his brother's gaze with something akin to panic. Kíli would never forgive him for this.

"She's gone."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the incredible JRR Tolkien.

A/N: *wrings hands nervously*

* * *

Kíli's face froze, but then he let out a forced chuckle. "Of course she's not gone. She's around here somewhere, probably we just missed her." He turned about as Fíli had done, searching for the familiar head of soft curls or the brown hood of her cloak—the one with the beads tied to the ends of the drawstrings. He walked to the rear of the group, tapping Bilbo's shoulder and asking, "Have you seen Deorynn, Master Hobbit?"

Bilbo, who had been feeling rather sulky after Thorin's harsh dismissal of him—"no place amongst us" indeed—immediately grew serious. "No," he responded, "not since we crashed into this wall." He shifted uncomfortably. "I was quite busy trying to hold on, you know."

Kíli felt his heart drop into his stomach. Fíli had joined them, and he squeezed Bilbo's shoulder. "It's quite all right, Bilbo. Uncle can be exceedingly harsh when he's frightened or worried."

The hobbit nodded at that and looked around at their group. "Are you sure she's not here? Perhaps she's inside already." He motioned to the cave Thorin had discovered and several of the dwarves were now filing into.

Kíli nodded hopefully, feeling in his heart like he was simply being optimistic now; but it couldn't hurt to look, so he followed Fíli inside.

The place was dry—cold, but dry—and large enough for them all; but not _very_ large. With a sinking feeling, he confirmed Deorynn was definitely not in here either. His eyes met Fíli's, and he knew without the tiniest doubt: something had gone terribly wrong.

His uncle was giving orders for everyone to rest, but Kíli barely heard them. His heart had begun pounding, his breathing fast and shallow; he had to find her _right now_.

He spun on his heel and charged back outside, oblivious to his brother's call of his name, suddenly driven by the urgency he had refused to acknowledge only moments before. He went to his knees beside the ledge and hollered her name repeatedly, scanning the cliff face below him desperately. Nothing greeted him except rain, vast expanses of vertical rock, and complete darkness below that.

She couldn't have fallen.

"Deorynn!"

It was too far, too slippery, too dark, too dangerous; she'd never survive such a drop.

"Deorynn?!"

She was too important; too real and too much a part of…._everything_….now to be torn away like this.

"DEORYNN!"

There were hands on his shoulders, pulling at him, a deep gruff voice and a gentle baritone telling him to come inside. He stared, unseeing, through his uncle; but his eyes locked with Fíli's as his brother pulled him up. He grabbed the fur of his collar roughly, practically pleading. "What have you done?! What happened? Tell me, Fíli!"

Rough hands yanked him away from his startled brother, who looked as though Kíli had slapped him.

"Kíli, enough!" his uncle roared.

He turned, fully intending to punch Thorin full in the face to get him _off_; but Thorin anticipated it and blocked him, shoving him roughly to the still-wet stone. It hadn't quit raining. Kíli growled, jumping up and charging his uncle, blind to everything except the fact that _she wasn't here_, and _Fíli had been the last one to see her_, and now Thorin was trying to make him give up. He had to find her, _didn't they understand?_

Thorin threw his arms round the young dwarf in a bear hug, holding him in place as he struggled and threw punches that lacked any aim or real strength. He roared nonsense into his uncle's coat, struggling until he ran out of steam, then collapsing against Thorin's chest in tears.

Fíli looked stricken.

Thorin held his nephew more gently now, his own heart cracking at the sound of the boy's grief more than his own—though he felt a surprising amount of sadness at the girl's apparent fate. His own feelings, though, tended far more toward anger; if she had only done as he originally ordered and stayed in Rivendell, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have had the chance to know her better; wouldn't feel that stabbing ache in his heart that told him he was grieving—regardless of how he tried to deny it, and he _would_ deny it—wouldn't be staring at Fíli's face looking for all the world as though he'd just murdered someone; wouldn't be holding a shaking Kíli in his arms as the young dwarf sobbed, seemingly unaware of anything but her absence. His Company wouldn't be gathered close in the cave behind him, whispering amongst themselves as the news trickled in that Deorynn hadn't made it.

The girl had been more trouble than she was worth from the beginning.

And now, she had gone and been so damned _useful_ and _kind_ and _intelligent_ that he couldn't even be glad to be rid of her!

Damn her.

He drew away from Kíli slightly, deciding the two boys needed to deal with each other now—he could only allow so much affection and uncle-ish behavior, after all; he was their King and they needed to see him as such—and called Fíli over. His Heir came as bidden, his face still twisted in that awful grimace. Thorin placed a hand on either side of the young man's face and drew their foreheads together, saying loudly enough for both of them to hear, and in a tone that brooked no argument,

"Fíli, my boy. This was not your fault."

He opened his eyes and saw a single tear slide down Fíli's cheek, which he swiped at gently with his thumb. "It is _not_. Now I need you to see to your brother. Get him inside and get him to rest. We cannot linger here long, you must know that."

He saw Fíli pull himself together with a visible effort. His training as a leader was kicking in—he knew they had to put off grief for when they were safe. He nodded his approval. "Good, Fíli, that's good. Here."

He transferred a still-trembling, though quiet, Kíli to Fíli's arms, then forced himself to walk away.

* * *

Fíli sat beside his brother a little while later, backs against a stone wall inside the cave. Kíli's eyes were closed, but Fíli knew he wasn't sleeping—his breathing was still all wrong, and his muscles were far too tense. The cave was quiet, and everyone else was asleep now, curled up in groups of brothers—both for warmth and for comfort. The news of Deorynn's death had been hard on everyone, except perhaps Gloin, though even he had been unusually quiet and stayed close to Oin the entire evening. Fíli was pretty sure Ori had cried himself to sleep between his brothers, though he had tried valiantly to hide it. Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur had just sat quietly with their arms round each other, eventually falling asleep that way (except Bofur, who was on watch); while Dwalin and Balin had spent a good portion of the next two hours in soft conversation with Thorin, and then retreated to their own corner to rest. He was pretty sure he'd heard a couple sniffles from that direction, but he wasn't about to look and see. Bilbo was the one, other than Kíli, that Fíli was most concerned about—the hobbit hadn't spoken a word to anyone since the news came, and now was curled up facing the wall across from him.

He would have to try to talk to him in the morning.

The thought of morning made him want to disappear. He didn't want morning to come. He didn't want to have to face Kíli and the others, pack up and leave without Deorynn, didn't want life to just keep rolling along like nothing had happened. He didn't want to be a leader and put aside everyone's grief in order to continue on their journey.

He wanted his friend back.

Next to him, Kíli stirred and pressed against his shoulder gently. "Nadad?" he asked, in a small voice that Fíli hadn't heard out of him since they were children. He shifted to wrap his arm around Kíli and pull him close.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. I truly don't blame you. I was only trying to understand; you were the last one to see her." Kíli looked up at him, deep brown eyes begging forgiveness. "None of it is your fault, nadad, I'm so sorry."

Fíli hugged him tight. "Shhh, Kíli, it's all right. I know. For what it's worth, I _did_ try to protect her." His voice cracked.

His brother was shaking again—trying to hold back another display of emotion, Fíli reckoned—so they sat there for a few moments, just holding each other.

After a bit, Kíli shuddered against him and confessed, "I miss her."

Fíli blinked back tears of his own. "Me too, nadadith. Me too."

But Kíli was shaking his head. "No, you don't understand. I _miss_ her. More than I ought to." He looked up at Fíli with wide eyes, grief and sadness and fear all evident. "I miss her too much."

Fíli was confused what his point was, so he said nothing, encouraging his little brother to go on.

Kíli was obviously struggling with something. "Fíli, I….I think I might have loved her."

Fíli blinked. Love? Kíli _loved _Ryn? That was…_impossible_. It was crazy, it was nonsensical and…

He remembered how grumpy Kíli would get when Fíli teased the girl a little too much, or how closely he'd stuck to her side in the days since the wolves attacked, or how he looked at her when they sat there watching the sun rise together—a habit Fíli knew they both thought was a secret; but really wasn't. At least not to him. His stomach twisted as he connected all the dots.

Oh Mahal, it _was_ entirely possible his brother had come to love her.

Which was, all things considered, a truly awful fate; and he pitied Kíli. She was dead, after all, and dwarves only truly loved once, only ever had one real heart-companion; and if Deorynn had been his, Kíli was going to be alone for the rest of his life. He was so young…

Not to mention, even if she _had_ survived this and whatever other horrors awaited them, plus the dragon; there was no way Thorin would have ever approved of the match. He may have known, as Fíli did, that Kíli would have been sentenced to a life of solitude without her; but he never would have accepted a half-blooded dwarf into the royal line of Durin. Kíli would have been disinherited, forced to choose between Deorynn and his family—if not by Thorin, then by the court.

Perhaps it was the lesser of two painful fates that she had fallen. At least this way, he still had Fíli, and Thorin, and whatever family grew from them in the coming years. Yes, it was better this way.

Though the pain for his brother was doubly bitter now, and he held him close.

"Oh, Kíli. I am so sorry, nadadith. So terribly sorry."

Kíli was shaking again. "You're not angry?"

Fíli shook his head. "What would be the point of that now? She's gone. Just….let's not tell Uncle yet. Someday. Just not yet."

Kíli nodded, then closed his streaming eyes and burrowed into his brother's chest, seeking a comfort Fíli knew he could not give.

But he did his best.

* * *

Bilbo lay nearby, not asleep at all, and trying not to hear the brothers' conversation behind him. Still, it was nearly impossible not to hear snatches of it; it was a smallish cave, and he was rather close to them—so young Master Kíli had loved Deorynn. He couldn't say he was surprised; she was easy to love. He'd certainly never loved her_ that_ way—_gracious, no!_—but she had become very dear to him in the weeks he'd known her, and her absence was like a void in his heart that he was certain no one else would ever fill.

As he thought about her and their friendship, he was reminded, of course, of Rivendell; and Rivendell made him think of Lord Elrond's offer to stay there. If anything had been made clear to him today, it was that he was making no progress at all forging a place for himself in this Company. They were all kind to him, for the most part, but the only ones who had ever made him truly feel _part_ of this quest were Gandalf and Deorynn. Gandalf was Valar-knew-where, no one knew when he would return; and Deorynn was gone entirely.

Bilbo felt heartsick.

Perhaps it was time to go back. Given word or not, he had nearly gotten the leader of this expedition killed today, along with himself; and it was clearer every day he wasn't cut out for this kind of adventure. He was a hobbit, for goodness' sake, not a dwarf or a man or an elf!

And Thorin would certainly be glad to be rid of him.

With that, Bilbo sat up. Fíli and Kíli had finally fallen asleep, so he need not fear discovery. He quickly shouldered his pack and took up his walking stick, picking his way through the sleeping dwarves carefully. He was nearly to the mouth of the cave when a voice spoke quietly behind him:

"Where do you think you're going?"

Bilbo stopped, sighed, and turned to face Bofur with a determined expression. "Back to Rivendell," he whispered sternly.

Bofur started, then stood, "No. No, you can't turn back now; you're part of the Company!" He faltered a bit. "You're one of us."

Bilbo shook his head. "I'm not, now am I? Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins; I don't know what I was thinking."

Bofur had no idea what this meant, so he said nothing.

"I should never have run out my door," Bilbo finished. Bofur jumped in quickly. "You're homesick, I understand."

Bilbo lost patience at that. "No, you don't! You don't understand, none of you do; you're dwarves! You're used to…to _this_ life; living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!"

One look at Bofur's face told him he'd struck a nerve. He hadn't meant to, he really did not want to hurt any of these dwarves…

"Oh, I'm…I'm sorry." Cursing himself, he stood awkwardly, wondering how to make up for it.

Bofur said quietly, "No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere."

Bilbo shook his head fiercely. "No, you do. You belong in Erebor. And you're going to take it back and Thorin is going to be King, and you'll have the home you all desire. The home you all deserve." He put a hand on Bofur's shoulder. "But not with me in tow. I'm no good to you or your quest; I'm not a burglar, and I'll just slow you down—or in today's case, nearly get you killed."

Bofur considered, then gave Bilbo a sad smile. "I wish you all the luck in the world, Master Baggins. I really do."

Bilbo returned the smile, and then turned to go. He'd made it all of two steps when Bofur called from behind him, "what's that?"

He followed the dwarf's gaze to his hip, where there was indeed a slight blue glow, coming from…his sword? He pulled it out of its sheath just a bit; sure enough, the blade was glowing brightly.

"_The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby."_

_Oh no._

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Half a league away and several hundred feet down the side of the mountain, two goblin guards squealed in protest as a bright light blinded them, interrupting their speculation about how long the Goblin King would allow the ugly dwarves to sleep on the front porch. Their voices were silenced less than a second later by two long daggers flashing against their throats.

Green eyes narrowed and met blue-gray ones.

"Let's go."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the incredible JRR Tolkien! Except Ryn, she's mine.

A/N: Okayyyyyyyy I worked all evening on a new chapter for you guys, so you get a treat: two in one day! Though it's kind of late, some of you may not see this til tomorrow…so…

ANYWAY. The badassery in this chapter is off the charts. Holy cow. I might be accused of overdoing it, but it's just too gosh-darned cool to apologize for. *squeals*

Enjoy!

* * *

"_Ryn! We're going to be okay!"_

_Rocks flying everywhere, smacking her skin and adding to the collection of bruises she already sported._

Breathe in, breathe out.

_The ledge dropping out from under her feet momentarily, the pain lancing up her wounded leg as she landed hard again._

_Open your eyes, Ryn._

Rain on her face.

_Fíli's hand grasping for hers, his name on her lips; she can't…reach him…_

Cold stone beneath her hands.

_The rock face rushing toward her, curling into a ball…the smaller she was, the higher her chances of surviving this…_

_The sickening feeling of the ledge beneath her feet crumbling…_

_Deorynn. Open your eyes._

A splitting headache making itself felt near her left temple.

_Falling, skidding on rock that wasn't quite as sheer a drop as it looked._

_It still hurt._

_Hitting one ledge after another, scrabbling for handholds, finding just enough to slow her down._

_Hands bleeding, head bleeding, falling endlessly…_

Kíli, save me.

_OPEN YOUR EYES._

Deorynn's eyes popped open with a gasp. She was lying on her back—leather pack, bow, quiver, and all, not very comfortable—her legs dangling precariously over the ledge that had evidently been her last stop down the mountainside. Breathing hard, she scurried backward to get some security, smacking her sore head on a rock that jutted out from the cliff face above her.

"Ow."

The small benefit was that the little overhang provided a bit of shelter from the rain. Sitting up carefully, the girl took stock of herself. She had fallen, that much she remembered; fallen while Fíli stood beside her trying to help…_oh Mahal._

Where were the others?! She was surprised at the sound of distress that escaped her throat at the thought they may have fallen too. She thought hard, trying to remember seeing anyone beside her during the (seemingly) long descent here. All she got were impressions—pain, rock, blood, more rock—but she was fairly certain she'd fallen alone.

_Fairly._

That wasn't good enough, though. She needed to get up and try to find her friends; though _how_ she was going to do that was still a little fuzzy. Frankly, she didn't have a clue.

First things first.

Her leg was throbbing fiercely, so she chanced a look at the bandages, though it was pointless in the dark and the rain. Sighing, she pressed her fingers to the wound and hissed in pain—it was bad, but not unmanageable. She let out a shaky breath.

Okay, it was kind of unmanageable. But she was going to have to manage.

Her hands were torn up as well—she really needed to invest in a pair of leather gloves for travel—and she pressed bloody fingers to her temple. There was a decent sized lump on her head, hopefully nothing too awful though. Digging through her pack, she found the last jar of salve she had kept in her pack after giving the others to Oin; it was arnica, an herb better used for muscle pains, but it would have to do.

She applied some to all her cuts, which had thankfully stopped bleeding profusely, and used the arnica and a few of her own bandages on the wolf bite. She noted with some trepidation that the stitches had torn a bit.

Blasted mountain.

Finished, she braced herself and scooted out from the tiny overhang. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle now, though the stone was still wet and slippery. She turned slowly, acquainting herself with the level of pain she was going to need to deal with, while trying to orient herself and figure out which way to go. Since she surmised she was still on the same side of the steep valley they had been travelling in, she put the cliff face on her left and started off.

It quickly became obvious that this was going to be harder than she imagined. The ledge was extremely small in some places; and it disappeared altogether at certain points, forcing her to jump or climb, which hurt even worse than walking. Her head throbbed in spite of the arnica, and she was _so_ tired. There was no choice but to keep going, of course, and she walked for a couple of hours, she guessed, before anything at all interesting happened.

Of course, in her case, "interesting" usually meant "bad." Tonight was no exception.

She nearly walked straight into the goblins' field of vision, barely catching herself in time to avoid detection. She pressed herself against the wall at the sound of their high, reedy voices; listening carefully and noting the door they seemed to be guarding.

"I don't see why we have to be out on patrol tonight, all the intruders are in one tidy group sleeping."

"Shut up. We're out here because we're ordered to be out here."

"But there's no work! And none of those little squirrels that are so good to nab and eat either."

"If you don't stop your grousin', I'm gonna eat your face!"

Deorynn snuck quietly closer, careful to stay in the shadows; she noted with some pride that the skills had not abandoned her. The talk of intruders interested her; they must have meant the Company, but it sounded as though they had been…corralled.

"You wouldn't have the guts!"

"Shut up, I said!"

Deorynn unsheathed a throwing knife at her waist, spinning the small blade gently.

"Hey look, it's one of them little birds! Let's nab it!"

Thinking to take advantage of their distraction, Deorynn positioned herself to throw. She bent her knees, breathing slowly through the pain in her leg, raised her arm….

And paused as a hand gently touched her shoulder, a nearly inaudible whisper of her name sounded in her ear. She gasped softly, startled, but the voice and hand were gentle enough she wasn't threatened. She lowered her knife and turned.

Her eyes widened.

_Gandalf!_

He put a gnarled finger to his lips and drew the girl back with a hand on her forearm. She followed him to a cleft in the rock several feet away, shadowed from sight and out of earshot of the bickering goblins.

Still, he put his mouth to her ear to be safe, and whispered, "My dear girl, where is the rest of the Company? Did you find them?"

She nodded eagerly and whispered back, "They're further up the mountain, but it sounds like they've walked into a trap."

Gandalf nodded grimly. "How did you get separated?"

The girl shuddered. "There was a stone giant battle. I fell."

"You _fell _off the _mountain_?"

A nod.

"And you're walking?"

A shrug.

"Are you hurt?"

A pause, then another nod.

Gandalf gave the girl a fatherly look of longsuffering. "Where?"

"My head and my leg."

The wizard placed his hand on her head as though offering a blessing and closed his eyes. Deorynn waited as he murmured a few words in a language she didn't know. A feeling of _energy_—she didn't know how else to describe it—flowed down her body like a soothing wave, the pain in her head ceasing immediately, and the wolf bite calming considerably.

Deorynn gasped, testing her weight on the leg. It would not hurt her to walk now. She flashed Gandalf a brilliant smile, which he returned. "Better?"

"Vastly."

"Good. Let's go rescue our friends."

* * *

It was a simple thing, really. Gandalf blinded the stupid creatures, and Deorynn slit their throats. She met his eyes with a fierce smile.

"Let's go."

They dove into the darkness of the mountain, Gandalf's staff providing a wan, white light that guided their steps. Deorynn wanted to be sick: it stank horribly, and they tripped over bones and corpses as they walked along. Goblins were clearly just as clean as orcs; which was to say, not at all. She made a tiny noise of disgust as her foot crunched a small animal bone, still wet with dead tissue and blood.

Gandalf steadied her with a hand on her arm and a gesture to stay quiet. She nodded, and they continued.

It was quite a walk, this path. There were no forks or caverns, just one direction to go. Wherever it led, Deorynn thought, was deep inside the mountain itself. But they pressed on, deeper and darker and smellier.

The girl reflected it was a good thing she wasn't claustrophobic.

After a good while, they began to hear a thunderous noise, and the warm light of fire made itself visible in the tunnel. Gandalf blew on the crystal atop his staff at this point, dousing the little light. The stench was worse than ever, but it was the last thing on Deorynn's mind as they exited the tunnel onto a rickety wood bridge.

They were in a massive cavern in what must have been the very bowels of the mountain. There were wood bridges and platforms everywhere, covering nearly every stone surface and crisscrossing throughout the open space. Torches lit everything, and there were goblins _everywhere_. Like ants, they swarmed over the rocks and bridges, squealing and moving quickly toward the center of the room, where there was a huge throne, of sorts, up against a giant crag of rock.

Deorynn's eyes widened at the sight of the creature on the throne. It was gigantic; fat and flabby, with a revolting goiter swinging from its thick neck. Whatever it was, it was singing cheerfully (and badly) about crushing bones and breaking necks. She had no idea what was going on.

Until she caught a flash of golden hair from between ugly bald goblin heads. Then she saw the dark hair, red hair, and magnificent beards of her friends.

Deorynn growled and looked at Gandalf.

"What is going on here?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"That is the King of Goblin Town," Gandalf answered, not sounding in the least respectful of the title.

"He has Thorin and the others."

"I know. We must approach with caution and canniness."

Deorynn agreed. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Gandalf smiled, and in that moment, Deorynn thought that she would never have wanted to be on the receiving end of that wicked look. She would have smiled back, but one name was echoing in her head, like a chant, and she was terrified for his life.

_Kíli._

Exactly _why_ his name was the only one she thought of—of course she wanted all her friends safe!—or at least the one she kept coming back to, was a conversation she would be having with herself later. A very unpleasant, stern conversation. But for now….

_Mahal, Kíli, be safe. Hang on, I'm coming._

Gandalf murmured in her ear, "Do your thing. I'll be right behind you; be ready to cover your eyes."

Deorynn gave him a grim nod, and took off, running lightly over the planks, working her way toward the platform where the throne rested, and the mass of flesh called the "Goblin King" was threatening her friends.

She ran into the first goblin mere seconds later. She killed him with a swipe of her dagger and kept moving. The goblins thickened from that moment on, her daggers bloodying quickly. She kept running, never stopping, hopping up onto a goblin's shoulders when the press became too thick. She ran from shoulder to shoulder, dancing over the mass of goblins on her way to the platform.

It was mere moments before they became aware of her; but it was too late. She barely slowed when they started swiping for her feet above their heads, trampling each other in her wake while attempting to catch her.

One did manage to snag her ankle a second later, and she ripped it from him with a feral cry, translating the interruption of her balance into a flip that brought her hands to the shoulders of a taller goblin, pushing off and spiraling in midair to land shakily on the shoulders of another, continuing to run over them like some kind of rickety floor.

This was _ridiculous_.

She was still too far from the platform when there was a commotion from the king, shouting something about Thorin's sword—the Goblin Cleaver. The goblins around him—around her friends—went into a frenzy; hitting, kicking, beating them with whips and fists and anything they had on hand.

She moved faster, the goblins now screeching with indignation when they couldn't stop her.

Deorynn saw Kíli, but he wasn't looking at her. He looked terrified, was shouting something and looking at….

Thorin.

She pulled a throwing knife from her belt as she ran, noting the trouble around the Dwarf King. The gigantic goblin leader was calling for his head, for someone to kill him; and one goblin in particular was looking to follow those orders. It took four of them to hold him down, and the one on top to wield the cruel-looking blade. With a prayer, Deorynn threw her knife as hard as she could.

It spun through the air, quick as lightning, and buried itself up to the hilt in her target's head. The dead goblin dropped the knife just as its companions began to squeal in fear, and collapsed.

Deorynn was there less than a second later, shouting to Thorin to stay down as she threw her body atop his, curling around his torso and head protectively as a shockwave swelled through the cavern, stunning everyone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Disclaimer: Everything is property of the great JRR Tolkien!

A/N: Just so everyone knows, the entire adventure of the last few chapters was inspired by Many Impossible Things' story "Follow On," which is a fantastic read (I highly recommend it), and the whole idea used with permission.

I couldn't decide who's POV to use for the reunion, but then I thought, "Por que no los todos?!" and went a little POV-crazy. I hope it's still enjoyable!

* * *

In the three or four seconds of total silence that followed Gandalf's magic, Thorin pushed gently on Deorynn's side to get her off. She jumped up and extended her hand to him with a dazzling smile.

Thorin wasn't quite sure he hadn't hit his head.

* * *

Kíli heard his own heart pound in his ears as he saw his uncle getting to his feet several feet away, and then a face he honestly thought he'd never see again. Dusky curls over a smiling face—_Mahal_ but that smile did things to him—and viridian eyes that locked on his moments later. Her smile widened, and suddenly she was moving his way.

* * *

There he was. Oh thank Aulë and Nienna and every other Vala in existence…he was all right. She didn't even realize her feet were carrying her to him until she was beside him, helping him up and hugging him roughly, half-sobbing in relief, now tearing herself away because there was no time for this right now…but her eyes were streaming and she could not _believe_ how happy she was to see him.

* * *

Fíli yelped in surprise when he caught sight of her pulling away from Kíli, turning to the pile of weapons and tossing his brother a sword.

"Ryn!"

She saw him, and laughed her delight as she threw an axe to Dwalin, who had just risen. "Fíli! You were right! We're going to be okay!"

* * *

Gandalf's voice boomed over them. "Take up arms. Fight!" With triumphant shouts, the remaining dwarves did as he bid, calling short greetings to the girl handing out weapons. With a smile, she threw the last crossbow to Oin, failing to see the goblin that ran at her from behind. Kíli saw, though, and hollered, "Ryn! At your back!"

The girl pivoted, but didn't orient herself fast enough to avoid the small club that struck her in the belly. Winded, she went down silently, and the misshapen creature jumped on her, aiming for her head with its beating stick.

Gandalf had _just_ healed one concussion; she was _not_ getting another.

She twisted beneath the grimy beast, stabbing it in the neck with a strangled cry of rage, pushing it off before it had a chance to collapse on her. "Disgusting," she muttered as it expired on the stone. Wriggling on her back, she tried to struggle to her feet; it was difficult as she was still gasping from the blow to her diaphragm.

Hands hooked under her arms from behind, and Kíli hauled her upright, hugging her close enough to murmur in her ear as they ran, following Gandalf, "You all right?"

She nodded stiffly, shrugging him off to savage the face of a goblin that appeared beside him.

Fíli appeared moments later, almost grinning.

"What happened to you out there, Ryn? You worried us."

She smirked back, having caught her breath again. "Well, you know it's not a proper quest if nobody's falling off of mountains. Just doing my part!"

She whirled, disemboweling a giant goblin that had jumped between her and Kíli, who was now in front of her.

Kíli shouted back, not amused, "You owe us both, you know. It wasn't fun at all, thinking you were dead." The ring of his sword accompanied the squeal of a dying goblin as it fell.

"To be fair," Deorynn shouted over the din, "I didn't exactly know you all were well, either! Where's Bilbo, anyway?"

Fíli beheaded a goblin viciously. "He's with us, here somewhere!"

The conversation was rather sparse from then on, as their focus went entirely into surviving the onslaught of goblins and running for their lives. Deorynn had never yet had the opportunity to see any of the dwarves in a real fight, and she was awed a few times: like when Oin—the healer!—took down about twenty goblins just by standing in one place and twirling his staff. Or when Thorin slashed three in one swing, his coat whirling around him.

She herself was a whirlwind of kicks and stabs, utilizing her daggers to their fullest and calling on the skills she'd been slowly building with Dwalin and Fíli over the last weeks.

_Your daggers require closer combat than swords do. Bring the fight to them._

_Utilize your size to get under their defenses._

_When you block, turn it into a blow by turning their own momentum against them._

_Remain in control of the fight—don't let your enemy force you into any position you don't want to be in._

The mantra in her head was interrupted by the sight of Kíli blocking arrows with his sword.

With his _sword._

She raced toward him, but a goblin dropped onto her shoulders from above; and by the time she looked again, Kíli was using a ladder as a shield.

Durin's beard, that dwarf was going to make her go gray before her time!

She reached him a moment later, helping as he tipped the ladder onto the heads of the goblins, trapping them and driving them back by their heads to a large hole in the wooden platform, then using the ladder to bridge the gap. Dwalin knocked the ladder loose after they all passed over, sending a few more of the creatures screaming into the depths below.

The fight continued as they ran, stopping at the edge of another gap in the bridge, this time a much larger one, far too large to jump.

_How are we going to-?_

And then she nearly lost her balance as the bridge swung toward the other side. When it reached the edge of its pendulum swing, Dwalin practically threw her off onto the other side, shouting to the others, "jump!" A few of them did, and she ended up next to Balin, waiting anxiously for them to swing back, watching carefully as they fought several goblins who had hopped on. When the swinging bridge returned, the rest of the dwarves and Gandalf piled off, Fíli slicing the supporting rope as he threw himself toward safety.

He made it, and they were on the run again.

For what seemed like hours, that was their pattern: run, slash, kick, punch, run… Deorynn fell into the rhythm of it, the heightened awareness that she'd heard Balin and Dwalin talk about—though having never fought in a real battle quite like this, the extended length of it wore down much of her endurance, sheer adrenaline keeping her fighting. When she did falter, Fíli or Kíli were always there to pull her along with shouts of encouragement.

"_Keep going, Ryn!"_

"_You can't stop yet!"_

"_We're almost there!"_

Which may have been true as they reached the last bridge—they had neared the edge of Goblin Town, and probably would have been home free from there—when the Goblin King himself burst out from beneath the wooden planks, gloating about how they were all caught and there would be no escape.

Deorynn was near the back of the group, snarling at the goblins that had caught up with them, but Gloin stepped in front, pushing her bodily back into the middle.

The girl was too amazed to protest. And besides, Kíli happened to agree with the red-haired dwarf, and had a hand on her arm as though he was afraid she'd try to take on the entire population of Goblin Town alone.

Which she sort of had, less than an hour ago.

Nevertheless, it was a moot point as Gandalf made short work of the disgusting villain who 'ruled' this place; but the bridge was unable to sustain his dead weight, especially after he'd damaged it so. The wood creaked ominously and dropped a couple inches.

Deorynn was far too familiar with this feeling, she reflected as she grabbed Kíli's arm for support.

"Not again," she murmured.

He barely had time to flash her an ironic smile before the entire mess came loose and fell into the chasm below.

Several seconds of falling, hitting things, slowing, speeding up, dragging, and attempting to keep her balance; and then what was left of the wooden structure crashed into the ground and collapsed. Deorynn got Kíli's foot in her face—again—and a wood beam on her hip.

_That's going to leave a bruise._

She yanked on Kíli's foot a bit, cursing vividly and yelping at him to help her get out of here—she was surrounded by wood and couldn't move well enough to—

"Well," Bofur interrupted her griping. "That could've been worse."

A sound like thunder, and her void was suddenly much smaller, the wood actually hurting her hip; now her pleas for help were infused with more actual fear than irritation.

"You have got to be joking!" Dwalin groused, and someone's hand was on her arm, pulling her out. She couldn't see who it was until she broke free of the wood planks and splinters, and then a smile lit her face; it was Ori. She hugged him, laughing, for a moment, before Kíli shouted, "Gandalf!"

She looked at him, and then followed his gaze up to the rocks, where an entire swarm of goblins was descending to meet them. Gandalf said, wisely in her opinion, that they should run.

So they ran.

They ran through tunnels in the dark; wet and cold, slimy and stinky tunnels. Deorynn held tightly to Ori's arm throughout, encouraging herself with reminders that sunlight and fresh air awaited them outside.

And goblins awaited them if they stopped running. That was a good motivation to run, too.

But it was true enough; soon, the air grew fresher, the tunnels lighter. Deorynn couldn't help but smile, and pulled Ori along a little faster. They finally broke out of the tunnel on the other side of the mountain, a steep, forested hill around them, fresh air blowing in the girl's face, filling her lungs and drawing a sigh of relief from her lips.

The moment they were clear of the goblins and stopped to catch their breath, the sun setting in a beautiful panorama to their left; Kíli swept Deorynn into his arms and held her tightly. She returned the embrace and buried her face in his neck, not bothering to try and control her trembling. He was shaking, too, and she felt a muted sob escape her throat.

"Kíli," she whispered, holding him tighter, "Kíli, I'm all right. You're all right, we're fine."

It wasn't until she said the words that she realized fully just how deeply her fear of losing him had run. The relief was a near-physical ache in her chest, and she fought the sudden urge to tilt her head and kiss him. The thought sent a thrilled shiver through her even as she dismissed it; though when he outright nuzzled her neck in response to the tremor, she very nearly forgot why kissing him would be a terrible idea.

Luckily, she was saved from any rash decisions that could lead to trouble later when she heard Gandalf ask, "Where is our hobbit?" She pulled away from Kíli, looking around worriedly.

"Curse that Halfling!" Dwalin shouted, "Now he's lost?"

Deorynn cried in consternation, thinking this quite unfair, "Now hold on just a minute, Dwalin!"

"I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!"

Gandalf shook his head, "Well where did you last see him?"

But it was Nori who answered, "I think I saw him slip away when they first corralled us."

The argument ended with Thorin's declaration that Bilbo had "seen his chance" and slipped away to run home. Though Deorynn knew he missed the comforts of home, she had a hard time believing he would abandon these dwarves simply to enjoy a consistent dinner time. And she said as much to Thorin, stepping out of Kíli's arms to address the grouchy King.

His eyes narrowed, as if noticing her for the first time. "And you! Where did you go? We thought you were dead—_dead_, mind you!"

"I _fell_ off a _mountain_, Thorin. I got back to you as quickly as I could. And brought a wizard." She gave Gandalf a slight smile, which he was too disheartened to return.

But Thorin just growled. "Always getting yourself hurt or lost; you're more trouble than you're worth, girl." When she started to protest, he added, "And we'll _not_ be seeing our hobbit again, despite your misplaced faith in him. He is long gone."

"No, he isn't," came a familiar voice to her right. She looked over, and joy of joys, there he was in the flesh! Her stomach flipped happily, and Deorynn had to restrain herself from tackling him with a bear hug, while a collective sigh of relief went up from the entire Company.

Gandalf laughed, "Bilbo! I have never been so glad to see anyone in all my life!"

Deorynn privately thought this was saying something, for a wizard.

Kíli was smiling too. "Bilbo! We'd given you up."

Fíli finished his thought, "How on earth did you get past the goblins?"

Dwalin looked skeptical. "How indeed…."

Bilbo looked around at all of them, laughing nervously. Gandalf came to his rescue. "Well, what does it matter? He's back!"

"It matters." Thorin wasn't buying the redirect. "I want to know: why did you come back?"

Bilbo considered, then answered, "I know you doubt me. I know you always have. You're right; I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, and my armchair, my garden. You see, that's where I belong. That's _home_." He paused, and Deorynn chanced a look at Thorin; he seemed to be soaking up every word the hobbit said. "And that's why I came back: you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back, if I can."

She blinked back tears at the sincerity in his words and tone; and at the softened look on Thorin's face. He looked down, as if slightly abashed at his previous presuppositions about the hobbit's behavior, and Deorynn decided to rescue him; she ran forward and threw her arms around Bilbo as she'd wanted to since she saw him again. He laughed in surprise, holding her tightly as he murmured, "How did you _not_ die down there, Deorynn?"

She laughed too. "Lucky, I guess."

And the spell was broken. Everyone smiled, some laughed, greeting their prodigal members with slaps on the shoulder and hugs.

The joy was broken by the howl of a warg.

Deorynn's smile faded, and Kíli squeezed her arm. Thorin sighed, "Out of the frying pan—"

"—and into the fire," Gandalf agreed. "Run!"

And so they ran.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Disclaimer: Everything is property of the great JRR Tolkien!

A/N: Mahal, but this chapter was fun to write. I hope it's just as fun to read! Thanks once more to everyone who reviews—they're so incredibly encouraging, and I absolutely _love_ hearing your perspectives on the story. :D

* * *

Warg howls split the night air, sounding terrifyingly triumphant as the Company ran, speeding down the hill at breakneck speed. Kíli kept both Fíli and Ryn in his line of sight; after the last two days, he never wanted either of them further away than spitting distance again.

Ever.

The beasts were faster, though, and it was only minutes before they were overtaken. Twilight had descended rapidly, and the glowing eyes of the mutant wolves only made them look more sinister.

Kíli ran faster. Suddenly, Deorynn skidded to a halt with a shout of "Bilbo!"

Kíli turned to see the hobbit being run down by a warg, and Ryn running back toward the pursuing creatures—_the wrong direction!_—to help him. "Ryn!" he shouted at her, cursing when she ignored him completely.

As it turned out, Bilbo took care of the situation himself, stabbing his sword almost accidentally into the warg's skull, right between the eyes. Kíli nearly smiled; it was a desperate, beginner's move, but it had saved the hobbit's life and it was good to see him developing at least a warrior's instinct, if not a high level of skill…yet.

Thorin appeared at the Bilbo's side a moment later, destroying another warg with Orcrist. Ryn, seeing Bilbo was safe, had shouted to him to hurry up, then turned around and began to run again. Kíli rolled his eyes and followed, catching up to Fíli quickly.

It soon became obvious that running was not going to be the answer for them this time, though, as they suddenly found themselves at the top of a rise that was a sheer drop in all directions but one—the direction from which all the wargs were coming.

Gandalf had an answer, though, as he usually did. "Up! Into the trees, now, all of you climb! Bilbo! Climb!"

Kíli jumped up, catching a low branch and swinging onto his belly. He reached down for Fíli, pulling him up to hook his knees across another branch and begin to climb. Seeing his brother safe, Kíli reached down again to help Ryn up.

His hand met nothing but air.

He bit back a groan. Was he going to be constantly wondering where this girl was all the time? Why couldn't she just stay in one place? Preferably near him.

But he knew the answer to that before the question fully formed—she'd hardly be Ryn if she wasn't so fiercely independent and frightfully capable. Still, looking around, he almost panicked when he couldn't see her in any of the other occupied trees, nor on the ground…

"Kíli!" came a voice above his head. "What's the delay? You need to get higher than that if you wish to avoid full grown wargs!" A hand appeared, reaching for him.

He grabbed it and pulled himself up, giving the girl a dirty look as he passed her. "Honestly, Ryn, you have _got_ to quit disappearing."

She looked genuinely nonplussed. "I climbed a tree, Kíli, not fell off the cliff. That hardly qualifies…." She trailed off, staring past him, at the ground.

Kíli turned and saw the source of her distress. Bilbo was still on the ground, turning in circles as if confused.

"Bilbo!" Deorynn shouted. "You climb better than anyone here! Get in the tree, for Mahal's sake!"

Kíli's gaze was drawn by movement just past the hobbit. The wargs were approaching fast, growling and snarling their intentions. Now they were less than fifty feet away, now thirty, there was no way Bilbo would make it…

The wargs reached the spot where Bilbo had been standing. Much to Kíli's relief, the hobbit's muscles had remembered their skill and he was safely up, nestled in the branches next to Balin. The nasty creatures were now nosing around the roots of the trees, snarling their displeasure and speaking in odd little barks to each other.

They fell silent simultaneously.

Kíli looked where they did, and his heart thumped into his stomach. Fíli murmured, "_Mahal_" from beside him, and Ryn's sharp intake of breath told him she was as horrified as he.

A giant orc with one arm sat upon an enormous white warg, surveying the scene with something akin to satisfaction. Scars crisscrossed his chest, face, and biceps; his missing arm had been "replaced" with a cruel forked shaft of metal that made Kíli's blood run cold just from looking at it. He wielded a massive mace and wore a smile that boded ill for their entire company.

Kíli's eyes sought his uncle. He knew who this was, though he'd never seen him before, his suspicions confirmed as Thorin's lips formed the name, his face a mask of shock:

"Azog."

The orc took a deep breath from his nose and smiled at his companions. _"Nuzh di gir? Nuzh di gal…"_ he sniffed again, and Kíli shuddered. The orc went on in Black Speech, the very language harsh and cruel and unknown to him, but Kíli did understand one thing he said:

"…_.Thorin unda Thrain."_

There was a metallic whizz next to his ear, and Azog roared in pain. Kíli's eyes widened when he saw why: one of Ryn's throwing knives had landed quivering in his shoulder. The orc seemed shocked anyone would dare attack him, and eyed the girl dressed in elvish armor. She growled at him—Kíli reached for her, but her attention was completely on Azog—and snarled:

"You don't _get_ to say his name. You don't deserve to even _speak_ it."

Azog wrenched the blade from his shoulder, gasping when he seemed to recognize it, and Kíli remembered that he was hunting her, too. He closed the distance between them (and noticed Fíli did the same, both of them coming close to either side of her), even as the orc turned his evil smile her way.

"_Mangath."_

She gave him an exaggerated nod, a mockery of a mark of respect, her voice dripping with derision, "At your service."

Kíli was simultaneously impressed and terrified at her bravado; perhaps she didn't know the stories as well as he did, but this was no orc to cross. He grabbed her arm and squeezed painfully. She didn't pull away, but she also didn't back down as Azog roared his fury and screamed something else in Black Speech. Whatever it was, it sent the wargs into a frenzy, as they began jumping and clawing at the trees—never quite reaching their prey, but nearly unseating them multiple times, shaking the branches and cracking the wood.

* * *

Deorynn didn't know_ what_ had come over her, but standing here helpless, hiding in a tree—the same method she'd used for protection countless times on the road alone—with the lives of her friends, her _King_ on the line…suddenly, she was a tiny girl again, watching her family be murdered by orcs just like these.

It lit something inside her; something rash and angry and _unstoppable._

When last she'd been in this position, she'd been too small to do anything. She had cowered in a corner while everything she loved was taken from her.

That was _not _a mistake she would be repeating.

Before she quite knew what she'd done, she had basically issued a challenge to the Orc responsible for the death of the great King Thror.

Her own boldness astounded her—and Kíli, too, if his grip on her arm was any indication.

But now the wargs were aiming to knock them out of the trees, or reach their feet by hopping and climbing as well as a warg could—which wasn't very well, thank Mahal. One snarling face got too close, and she stomped it with her foot. It gave her great satisfaction, though Fíli just stared at her as if she'd grown another head.

"What?"

Suddenly, cries of alarm came from Bilbo's tree. Deorynn's heart stopped when she saw the tree beginning to topple, Bilbo's frightened face cast in sharp relief among the branches. The tree fell toward theirs—hers and Fíli and Kíli's—and Deorynn reached for Bilbo instinctively. He saw her and jumped, landing in her arms and knocking her back into the trunk of the pine. They yelped and held tight as they struggled to regain their balance, then Bilbo looked up at her and gave her a weak smile. She returned it, but it was short-lived as she heard an ominous _crack!_ and felt the wood at her back shudder.

Well _that_ was terrifying.

She felt the tree shift, begin to lean dangerously to one side, heard the snap of roots giving at the base of it…

"Hold onto me!" she ordered Bilbo, and began to climb. "Fíli! Kíli! Higher!"

They didn't hesitate, just followed, and when the tree crashed into the one next to it half a moment later, they all jumped safely to the next one—which in turn began to fall, so they jumped to the next one—until finally, they were all huddled together on the branches of one spindly pine on the very edge of the cliff.

Azog _laughed_, and Deorynn despaired. It was happening again; she couldn't stop it.

Only this time, she was extremely likely to die, along with her friends. She hoped so. She could not handle losing everything _again._

The wargs were still assaulting the base of their tree, and it shook horribly. A moment later, Deorynn felt a wave of heat pass her face as a flaming pinecone flew toward the animals. It landed, leaving a trail of flame as it rolled and bounced among the wargs. They yelped and backed away from it.

Deorynn smiled. Gandalf always had an answer.

A few moments later, the entire ground surrounding their tree was aflame, the wargs pushed back to a safer distance. They turned tail and ran, unable to get past the enchanted fire, and Azog roared his frustration. The dwarves began to cheer, celebrating their small victory a little prematurely, in Deorynn's opinion. That is, until that tree swayed, and with the ominous root-popping noise again, beginning to lean out over the cliff dangerously.

The inherent problem with this situation was that as the tree fell, so did more than half the Company, anyone stuck on the wrong side of the tree holding tight to branches or the trunk. Deorynn, thankfully, was not one of those, but she made a grab for Ori as he slipped, yelping when she missed. He cried out in terror as he managed to grab his brother's boot, and they hung there, Dori barely holding on.

Deorynn's eyes widened as she took in the scene. There were too many potentially lethal situations here; she couldn't help them all—

She made a dive for Kíli without thinking as he struggled to hang on. He grabbed her and gasped, his feet dangling in the air, scrabbling for a hold on something. Deorynn held his eyes.

"Kíli, calm!"

He stopped kicking. She squeezed his arm, still not looking away. "I won't let go. Understand?"

He nodded.

"Good. Now swing side to side, like a pendulum."

So busy was she with Kíli, that Deorynn didn't see Thorin rise to face Azog. She didn't see him stride toward the monster; Orcrist in one hand, oaken shield in another, looking every bit the king she already knew he was. She didn't see the massive warg jump over his head, knocking him down in the process.

Her first clue something more was wrong was Balin's shout of "NO!"

She jerked her head up to see Bilbo standing on the trunk, staring at something in the distance…Thorin was…

_What was he doing?_

He was struggling upright, though Azog's mace remedied that a moment later…

Kíli gave a little sound of alarm from beneath the tree trunk, and finally got his leg hooked on a branch, pulling himself up with her help. Fíli, a few feet away, had managed to get his body maneuvered onto the trunk as well, and hurried over to assist with Kíli if necessary.

Thorin's cry of agony as the white warg closed its jaws round his middle cut through her elation that Kíli and Fíli were safe, and Dwalin shouted his name and tried to go to his aid—too quickly, causing the branch beneath him to split. Deorynn, Fíli, and Kíli all sprang to his aid.

That's why she didn't see the warg toss her king like a rag doll. She DID see Azog's second-in-command approach him with a cruel-looking sword, Thorin's struggle to reach Orcrist, and_ did_ see Bilbo take off running toward him.

_Mahal, no…._

With a mighty heave, they got Dwalin up. Another few precious moments of maneuvering got them off the tree completely—during which time Bilbo had surprised and killed the orc threatening Thorin. Now he stood over the dwarf king's too-still body, waving his sword around and making quite the fierce picture. Deorynn's heart swelled with pride for the hobbit, even as her feet began to run toward him. Brave or not, he could not face Azog alone, and the Orc was smiling predatorily at him.

He would not take Bilbo. _Or_ Thorin. Not so long as she drew breath.

She was done hiding in the shadows.

Beside her, Kíli began a war cry; one Fíli picked up, then Dwalin, and then Deorynn as well. She zeroed in on the warg closest to Bilbo and aimed for its eyes. The orc atop it was thrown when her daggers stabbed true, and she yanked them free in enough time to slice open the rider before he could rise.

She turned to see another warg pouncing. She ducked, raising her blades as the creature passed straight over her—the steel slicing it from chest to tail. It was dead before it landed, and its rider didn't have time to recover before she leapt on his back with a snarl and sliced his throat open.

A huge orc grabbed her from behind, and she let out a strangled scream as it roared in triumph, driving its fist into her ribs and throwing her to the ground. It brought its massive mace down toward her head, but she rolled aside, stunned though she was. She tried to call for Kíli, but she couldn't summon the breath, everything in her chest was constricted and in immense pain, and the orc had lined up for another shot at her head, but placed his massive foot on her chest to hold her in place and oh Mahal, she was done for now…

A cry like that of a bird of prey split the air, and suddenly, the orc was lifted completely off the ground by…

_A giant Eagle?_

Deorynn blinked, certain she was dreaming. She'd hit her head, she must be dreaming. But no, there were several of them, crying out in their beautiful voices, dropping orcs and wargs from the cliff top, fanning their wings to blow fire their way, tearing at them with beaks and talons…

One had Thorin gently in its grip and was flying away.

_Must get up. Have to sit UP._

Then Kíli was there, helping her up gently and holding her close to his side as they stumbled toward Fíli. Having caught her breath a little bit, Deorynn muttered to him, "Sorry, that was a close call."

He simply harrumphed and squeezed her shoulder.

A moment later, she saw an Eagle coming in awfully close, and felt talons close round her hips and shoulders. Yelping in fear and surprise, she found herself falling a short distance to the back of another Eagle. Breathless from awe as well as the fall, she held tight and looked back to see Kíli, Fíli, and Bilbo all receiving the same treatment.

A glance at the tree that was now falling completely over the edge, with the figure of a wizard leaping from its branches onto the back of an Eagle, told her they were all accounted for. She did a quick head count, just to be sure:

Thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard, and a half-dwarf lass.

The girl breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes to block the magnificent view around her as the bird turned and her stomach lurched.

Flying, she decided, did not suit her at all.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the incredible JRR Tolkien!

A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys, this chapter killed me. It is fluffy and evil, I kid you not.

* * *

That flight might have been something he would have found thrilling, Kíli reflected, had it not been so rife with terror and pain. His brother was safe, his heart beating strong and steady against Kíli's cheek when he rested his head on Fíli's back, sharing heat and comfort. Ryn was safe, holding to her Eagle with her eyes tightly shut and her face stuck in a grimace—Kíli thought she might be more hurt than she let on, or just terrified of the height. Maybe a little of both. Their burglar, too, had made it through relatively unscathed.

But his uncle.

Thorin was completely unresponsive, even when Fíli shouted for him—and Uncle had _always_ answered when they called. Unless he couldn't.

Which was what terrified Kíli so.

He wasn't stupid; a bit naïve, perhaps, once in a while, but he knew how dangerous this quest would be from the beginning. He knew there was a chance—a good chance—some of them may not survive it. He knew _he_ may not survive it; and he had accepted that possibility, he was ready for it. But the idea that Fíli or Thorin may not make it never truly seemed possible. This was all _for_ them, especially Uncle. He had worked so long and so hard to hold together his people in the aftermath of Erebor's sacking and the Battle of Azanulbizar, had done so much for everyone, including him and Fíli and their mother, that Kíli refused to believe the Valar would allow the dream of his heart to be so easily torn from him again.

Thorin _would_ be King Under the Mountain, and Fíli his Heir. He deserved no less.

And if Kíli lived to see it, he would be grateful. But if he had to die to make it happen, it was a sacrifice he would make without a moment's hesitation.

But first, Thorin had to wake up.

The flight was over in less than an hour. Kíli gasped at the sight of what appeared to be the Eagles' eyrie. It was a collection of massive ledges in the side of a mountain, nearly caves, shielded from the wind and weather by stone and impossibly thick brambles and vines. Each…'nest', Kíli supposed was the right word, consisted of branches covered in what looked to be feathers and large quantities of moss or greenery of some sort. They were neatly organized and looked rather clean, nothing like what he would have expected from dumb animals.

The largest of the Eagles lay Thorin on the stone of one of the empty ledges gently. Kíli waited impatiently as his Eagle seemed to take forever to land; jumping down from its feathered back almost before it had touched the ground, Fíli close on his heels, and ran to his uncle. Both Gandalf and Deorynn were there already, and the girl rose as soon as she saw the brothers. She ran to them and hugged them both, murmuring, "He is alive. Gandalf is tending to his wounds, but he will live."

Fíli sighed his relief, but Kíli's came out in a small, desperate sound that had Ryn's arms tightening around his neck. She let him go only a moment later, though, and they turned to see Thorin's blue eyes flutter open.

_Oh, thank Mahal._

"The Halfling?" his voice was raspy and broken, but Gandalf smiled. "It's all right; Bilbo is here. Quite safe," he added, almost as if to reassure himself as well as the rest of them.

The hobbit in question stood nearby, watching, his shoulders slumping in relief. Thorin started to struggle, obviously wanting to rise, and Kíli jumped forward to assist. His uncle seemed agitated and barely spared Kíli a glance, pushing him away to stand on his own two feet the moment he was able. Kíli fell back, trying to brush aside the pang of hurt at his uncle's attitude.

Thorin fixed a hard gaze on Bilbo. "You!" he growled. Kíli blinked; was he _angry_? After Bilbo had saved his life? "What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

Ryn fidgeted beside him, and though he looked at Fíli in confusion at his uncle's outburst, Kíli placed a hand on her arm to calm her.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin continued. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" A low growl escaped the throat of the girl next to him, and even Kíli felt the spark of irritation. What was Thorin _thinking_?

"I have never been so wrong in all my life."

Kíli blinked as his uncle moved to embrace the hobbit, and sounds of relief and joy escaped the Company, laughter and sighs in equal measure, even a few cheers. Beside him, Fíli laughed and Ryn relaxed visibly, a slow smile spreading over her face.

Thorin pulled away from Bilbo, smiling widely, and murmured, "I am sorry I doubted you."

Bilbo shook his head, "No. I would have doubted me too. I'm not a hero. Not even a proper burglar."

Thorin laughed at that, squeezing the hobbit's shoulder before turning and bellowing, "And where are my sister-sons?"

They ran to him, careful not to hurt him with the force of their relieved bear hugs, and he laughed softly. "My boys," he murmured. "Thank Mahal you are both safe. Now I am truly healed."

Kíli buried his face in his Uncle's fur collar so no one would see his tears of gratitude. His brother and his Uncle were in his arms, safe and relatively healthy.

Everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Deorynn smiled, taking in the sight around her. They had made it, all of them. Thorin was embracing his nephews nearby, both their shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion; Bilbo was receiving slaps on the back from everyone, and Gandalf had flown off a moment ago to speak with the King of the Eagles—who were evidently sentient and intelligent. As for herself, Deorynn wasn't sure which emotion to focus on; there was intense relief, horror at what the last forty-eight hours had consisted of, physical pain (that orc had hit her pretty hard, and she was going to need to tend her deeply bruised ribs soon enough), and lingering nausea from the flight here. Also, the eyrie was awe-inspiring, and the nests looked incredibly comfortable.

Also, she was ridiculously proud of Bilbo, which she intended to tell him as soon as everyone else finished mobbing him.

Also, Kíli was all right. This made her happier than she wanted to admit, and led to thoughts about what had almost happened on that hillside. She shifted uncomfortably, pushing the memory away.

She was too tired for this right now.

Deciding to focus on the more difficult emotions later, Deorynn embraced fully the relief she felt. Bilbo had seen her and started her way, solving for her the dilemma of when to approach him, and his arms snaked about her ribs unashamedly. She gasped—_Mahal_, his hug hurt—but she wasn't about to stop him for anything, instead holding him tightly in return and resting her head on his curls.

"Bilbo," she said with a hint of a laugh. "I am so very proud of you."

He shuddered in her arms. "I'm just glad it's over. I've no idea what came over me."

She pulled away and looked him straight in the eyes, smiling. "Courage, my dear Bilbo. You have it in abundance, regardless of what others say."

He quirked a smile back at her. "You would know, I think. You were pretty incredible back there yourself."

"I was reckless."

"But brave."

"Idiotic."

"But brave."

She laughed then, a warm feeling enveloping her heart. "Perhaps. At any rate, we're all safe and sound for now, and I couldn't be more grateful."

Bilbo nodded. "I agree entirely. I'm also starving…" he looked as if he'd just noticed.

Gandalf chose that moment to arrive back at the nest, announcing that Gwaihir, the King of the Eagles, had invited them to rest there that night and recover from the worst of their wounds. Food was being brought very soon, and they were welcome to start up a fire and get comfortable. The dwarves cheered and wasted no time; soon a blazing fire was lit, and blankets and bedrolls laid out—thankfully most of their gear had survived Goblin Town and the fight afterward. The Eagles dropped off some rabbits and a sheep not long after, and Bombur set to cooking them up with good will.

Deorynn retreated to the very edge of the ledge, behind a large rock, and removed her leather armor. Lifting her tunic, she probed gently at the ribs on her right side, near the back. She couldn't see back there well, but her fingers told her nothing was broken. She sighed in relief, then debated using the arnica or saving it for worse wounds.

Deciding to use a little tonight but none tomorrow, she opened the canister, jumping when a voice came from behind her:

"Here, let me."

She turned to regard Kíli, her expression carefully blank. "I can do it."

He raised his hands but did not retreat. "I know you can. I want to help. Besides, we need to talk."

_No, no we really shouldn't talk; this is a terrible idea…_

But Kíli had already taken a seat to her right and slightly behind her, prying the salve from her fingers gently. "I'm really glad you're all right," he began, raising her tunic just enough to see the damage. "Valar, Ryn, that orc really did a number on you. That's a pretty massive bruise."

This was safe enough territory. Deorynn shrugged. "But it is just a bruise. The arnica will clear it up quicker than if I just left it alone."

Kíli hummed his agreement, and she felt the coolness of the salve meet her skin a moment later. His touch was exceedingly soft, and perhaps unduly soothing as he rubbed slow circles into the bruised tissue. She crossed her arms to hide the goose bumps, and forced her voice to be steady.

"I am glad you're all right, too."

He rewarded her with a smile that made her heart stutter.

_Blast._

He finished a moment later, lowering her tunic and placing his hands on her waist when she started to scoot away. "Wait," he whispered in her ear.

She shuddered and stilled.

_Oh Mahal, Kíli, do you even know what you do to me?_

The last two days had wrought many changes in Deorynn, some exciting and some frightening, but none more so than realizing the depth of her feelings for the dwarf prince behind her. Accepting her love for her new friends was shamefully easy compared to accepting what he meant to her, even to herself.

She couldn't even _think _the word love when thinking of him. Not because she _didn't_, but because admitting it would ruin everything.

But he was urging her to turn and face him, and she was acquiescing; and when those gorgeous dark eyes found hers, it was impossible to remember that. She trembled and looked down.

_He's a prince, you're a bindâd, you have nothing to offer him._

"Ryn?" he tried to tilt her head up. She resisted. "Please, Ryn, I have to know if this is just me."

_Thorin would disown him, Fíli would hate him, he'd be forced to choose between you and them; and just like your father, he would choose his family, his kingdom, his life of privilege and love and adoration—as well he should._

She shook her head, a tear escaping. He traced the shell of her ear with his fingertips. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking.

_You have to lie to him._

She looked up at him, unable to hide her tears, opening her mouth to tell him, "No, Kíli, I feel nothing for you, nothing more than I do Fíli or Bilbo or your uncle…" But she made the mistake of meeting his gaze, and she was incapable of lying to those eyes. Her lips formed the words without her permission:

"No, Kíli, it is definitely not just you."

_Rukhsul._

But his radiant smile momentarily assuaged her fear—or at least made her forget it—long enough for him to pull her face closer to his. She couldn't pull away.

"Mukhuh?" he murmured, nuzzling her nose and sending a jolt of sheer _want _down her spine.

_Tell him no. Deny him permission. He'll not touch you if you don't wish it. It's what's best for both of you…_

"Kahomhilizu."

_Damned mouth._

And then her thoughts ground to a halt as he pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, just a little chapped, a little hesitant, but oh so fervent. She found herself returning the kiss, pressing closer without thinking, her own heart stuttering out a rhythm borne of both terror and sheer joy. He was warm and firm and held her so gently she wanted to cry. Her hands buried themselves in his soft, tangled locks of their own accord, and he shivered against her chest and moaned softly.

It was a first kiss—her very first ever—and he pulled away a moment later, murmuring Khuzdul against her lips and running warm fingers down her spine. She shuddered and gathered her courage.

"Mahal, Kíli…you are such a treasure." She opened her eyes, refusing to be dissuaded this time, even by his perfect lips. "A treasure the likes of me can neither claim nor accept."

His smile faded. "What?"

The hurt in his eyes did more damage than anything up to that point in her life had.

"Kíli, we can't do this. Your uncle would never approve a union with one such as me. Fíli would fight you on it. When you reclaim Erebor, the entire court would demand any promise we made one another be nullified. "

He was shaking his head, and she faltered. No. He needed to understand this.

"You would be forced to choose between me and your princely heritage, your kingdom and your people, Kíli." When that didn't faze him, she continued, "Forced to choose between me and Fíli."

He stilled.

Now she was crying in earnest, damn her breaking heart. "I will not allow that choice to be thrust upon you. I am sorry."

He found his voice, just barely. "No, Ryn, please."

She trembled as she kissed him once more, softly. "Men lananubukhs menu, ukradu. But I cannot be what you need."

And she rose from her knees and walked away.

* * *

Bilbo sat by the fire, enjoying the laughter and high spirits of the rest of the Company. Bofur was singing, and he had help this time, as several others joined him and some pulled out instruments. Gandalf and he were smoking, blowing smoke rings, and Bilbo was laughing as the wizard magicked his rings to change colors and dance around Bilbo's plain white ones. Dinner was cooking over the fire and filling their wonderfully roomy cave with delicious smells, and even Thorin seemed to be enjoying the evening, smiling more than Bilbo had seen him do since he met the brooding dwarf king over six weeks ago.

However, there were two absences he soon became aware of; and that thought made him smile.

Perhaps the young prince had wooed and won his bonny lass.

However, she came stalking over presently, skirting the circle of light and warmth and rummaging in her pack over by her bedroll. He wondered at the look on her face; neither happy nor besotted. When he looked over several minutes later and she was still sitting there, a tiny tremor in her shoulders, he decided to investigate.

Excusing himself politely, he walked over to the young girl. He heard her sniff once as he got closer, but she was still rummaging in her pack, obviously trying to simply have a reason to stay with her back to everyone.

Behind him, he heard a cheer and looked back to see Kíli coming back into sight, Fíli and Ori slapping him on the back as he sat between them. His smile was oddly stiff.

Bilbo shook his head. Something was definitely not right between the two.

He plopped down beside Deorynn, careful to make as much noise as possible so as not to startle her. She looked over at him, attempting to smooth her features into an expression of happiness.

She failed miserably.

"My dear Deorynn," he began. "What is wrong?" He had a guess, but didn't want to push her.

She shook her head, looking away again, but she couldn't hide the tremor in her voice. "Oh, nothing at all, Bilbo. It's a lovely evening, is it not?"

He looked around. "It is indeed."

She was silent.

He scooted a little closer and put a hand on her arm to still her busy-ness. "Deorynn. I know about Kíli."

She looked over sharply. "How?"

"I….overheard him confess to Fíli that he was in love with you. That night we all thought you were dead. Suppose he just needed to get it off his chest."

Her face crumpled, and she fought tears.

"Oh, lass, what is wrong? Do you not feel the same? If not, I'm sure you can still be his friend—"

"—No, Bilbo, that's not it at all."

"Then what?"

She paused. When she looked at him, he saw the truth in her eyes before she even used the words. "I do love him. So much it's absolutely terrifying. But I cannot have him."

"Whyever no-?" but he never finished the question, because he knew the answer. "Because of your parentage."

She nodded. "No one would ever accept it. It would be my mother and father all over again."

Bilbo did not think so, he had heard the honesty in Kíli's voice when he spoke of it; but he did not think that would help Deorynn at the moment, because she was right about one thing—regardless of how willing Kíli was to stick by her side, he would suffer for it.

So instead, he placed his arm round her shoulders and just let her cry softly.

* * *

*Rukhsul—"offspring of an orc", used here similarly to "son of a—"

*Mukhuh?—"May I?"

*Kahomhilizu—"Please"

*Men lananubukhs menu, ukradu—"I love you, my heart of hearts."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns all. Lucky dog.

A/N: Fear not, my friends! I have another chapter for you! I swear, you people make me write more and faster with your enthusiasm…

Also, I've written a one-shot for my 100th reviewer of this story, KungFuSchildi-it's called 'Distance', feel free to check it out if you want more Durin family feels! Also, thanks again for all your support!

* * *

Deorynn awoke at her usual time—just as the wan light of morning began to turn the sky lighter, before the sun came up. Opening her eyes, she noted with a jolt of joy that the ledge they'd been given faced east, and they were on the Eastern side of the Misty Mountains—it was the perfect spot to watch a sunrise. A smile nearly caught her lips, until she realized abruptly that she could _not_ watch it with Kíli. She needed to distance herself from him for a little while—she had just broken the man's heart, after all, he probably hated her anyway—and the loss of his companionship she felt keenly.

Suddenly, she didn't feel much like watching the sun rise at all.

Her heart broke anew when she saw him rise from his spot beside his brother and wander over to the edge. He sat down and leaned back on his hands like he always did, eyes fixed on the blue sky and golden clouds.

Deorynn turned over, her back to him and the sun, and buried her face in her bedroll, allowing the tears to come again. _Just for a minute._

She didn't see him turn around to look at the bundle he knew was her, hoping to see her awake.

A couple of hours later, Deorynn knelt beside her pack, wrestling her bedroll onto the back of it with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. Heavy footsteps approached her from behind, and she finished impatiently, turning just as Thorin cleared his throat. She rose and gave him a nod and a half-forced smile; she really was happy to see him, especially the more lighthearted side of him he'd displayed the night before, but smiling at all was something of an achievement at the moment.

Not that he needed to know that.

He looked a bit abashed, similar to how he'd looked at Bilbo the day before, and it confused her.

"My lady Deorynn," he began, and she huffed at him. He quirked a smile at her, nodding but not retracting the title of address. "I wanted to thank you. First, you saved my life in Goblin Town, and last night…" he shifted uncomfortably. "Last night your challenge to Azog gave me a moment to collect my wits. I must admit knowing he is hunting us and seeing him in front of us are two very different things."

Her smile relaxed into something more genuine. Mahal, did _she_ ever know.

"I understand completely," she replied. "Though it was perhaps one of the more rash and unintelligent things I've ever done." She blushed. "Though I meant every word."

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Deorynn. I am sorry things have been tense between the two of us. I'm in a difficult position regarding you, one that will only become more difficult once Erebor is retaken and the court re-established." Her shoulders slumped—she would clearly never escape the stigma of her parents and was beginning to remember why she left society behind completely. But Thorin was still speaking. "But I make you a promise now, my lady. Regardless of what anybody says, you will always have a place in Erebor, should you desire it. You have more than proven your loyalty and worth in the last several weeks."

She gave him a nod of respect and gratitude, and he left her standing there, perplexed by a mix of feelings from grief to inexpressible joy.

She had a _place_. A _home_. Sure, it was currently in the possession of a dragon, but…still. It was hers for the taking.

But it was also too near Kíli for her to ever truly be happy with it, like a cruelly constant reminder of what she would never have.

_Figures._

* * *

The Eagles were kind enough to carry the Company for a little while that morning. Gandalf apparently had done their King a kindness at some point, so they flew them about fifty miles east, setting the company down on a giant spire that Gandalf called the Carrock. At first, Bilbo wondered at this, why they had been set down on a frighteningly tall pinnacle with a sheer drop on all sides, but he had little time to think of it as Thorin stood at the very top of the spire looking northeast at a solitary peak, hazy in the distance. Bilbo gasped.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Gandalf answered, as Thorin seemed a bit overwhelmed at the moment. "Erebor. The Lonely Mountain: the last of the Great Dwarf Kingdoms of Middle Earth."

Thorin looked so incredibly delighted that Bilbo couldn't help but feel a swell of joy too. The dwarf king murmured, almost to himself:

"Our home."

Bilbo heard Ryn whisper from behind him, "By the Valar, that is beautiful." He turned in time to see Fíli and Kíli both flash her a smile, which she returned tightly before moving away quickly. Kíli turned away, and Fíli frowned in confusion.

Their reactions were lost in the general bustle a few minutes later, as Gandalf revealed a set of steep stairs descending from the Carrock into the forest below. It was a long climb down, and they were all relatively quiet and focused on their footing during the two hours it took.

At the bottom, they found themselves in a forest of beautiful tall oak and elm trees. At the bottom of the stairs, there was a pebbly cave and a bubbling river, where the entire Company washed the filth from their bodies and clothes. Deorynn washed a bit upstream in a little pool shielded from the others by a hedge and some large rocks. Everyone else made a merry game of it, splashing and fooling about in the water until Thorin bellowed his impatience and everyone dried off and readied themselves to leave.

They finished off what was left of the mutton from the night before for lunch, munching as they walked cheerfully along the forest road. It was a pleasantly warm day, and Bilbo began to remember why walking holidays were such fun. Deorynn walked close to him, doing her level best to pretend nothing was wrong, and though Bilbo thought it was a losing battle, he indulged the girl; telling stories of the Shire and his adventures as a child—and he couldn't help but feel a little better when he drew a genuine laugh from her at his description of his cousin Lobelia. "A sour-faced mutant toad with no sense of humor" was apparently something that she found amusing.

He spent much of the rest of the afternoon attempting to garner another laugh, figuring she deserved to forget her troubles for a little while, at least.

It was nearing dinnertime when Deorynn stopped cold. Bilbo stopped with her, looking about and tugging on her shirt sleeve. She yanked it free and called, "Quiet!"

The entire group halted and turned to regard the girl silently.

She ran off the path, scaling a nearby oak like a squirrel and disappearing into the leaves for a moment. When she came back down, she walked straight to Thorin and said seriously,

"We need to run."

* * *

Kíli groaned softly. More running? They were going to need to shake Azog and his friends, and soon, because Kíli seriously doubted they could outrun them all the way to Erebor, or even to Mirkwood for that matter.

But they ran.

They ran without stopping for a good while, but when Bombur could go no further (he wasn't the only one, Kíli thought vaguely while gasping for air), Thorin ordered Ryn and Bilbo to scout out where the orcs were. Kíli grabbed Deorynn's arm as she ran off in the opposite direction of Bilbo, and she stared back at him, unmoving. He hesitated, unsure what he wanted to say to her.

"Be careful, Ryn."

She gave him a short nod and took off.

They only had to wait about ten minutes before Ryn returned, panting. "They're gaining on us." Bilbo appeared a moment later, and Thorin asked, "How close is the pack?"

"Too close," Bilbo reported. "Coupla leagues, no more. But that's not the worst of it."

"The wargs picked up our scent," Dwalin guessed.

Deorynn shook her head even as Bilbo replied, "Not yet, but that they will do. We have another problem."

_Just what we need._

Gandalf jumped in. "Did they see you? They saw you."

Bilbo shook his head again. "No, that's not it." Gandalf, seeming to miss the point (a rarity, for the wizard, or so Kíli thought), smiled. "See? What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material!"

There was general agreement all around about this, and cheerful praises to Bilbo.

Bilbo raised his voice a moment later, frustrated but trying to remain quiet, "Will you _just listen_? I'm trying to tell you there is something else out there!"

_That_ got their attention. Gandalf sobered instantly. "What form did it take? Like a bear?"

Bilbo looked surprised he should guess that. "Y-yes, but bigger! Much bigger!"

Bofur looked as frightened as Kíli felt. "You knew about this beast?" He continued quickly as Gandalf turned away, motioning to Deorynn to come speak with him. "I say we go back."

"And be run down by a pack of orcs?" Thorin asked incredulously. An argument nearly broke out at that, but Gandalf finished his whispered conversation with the girl and interrupted them all. "There is a house nearby where we _might_ take refuge."

Thorin looked exasperated. "Who's house? Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," the wizard replied. "He will help us, or he will kill us."

Silence met this announcement, until Thorin asked wearily, "what choice do we have?"

As if on cue, an unearthly roar split the air. Kíli stepped closer to Fíli instinctively.

"None," Gandalf confirmed. "Deorynn will thin the orc ranks while the rest of us run."

_No!_

Everyone was looking at him. Kíli blushed, not realizing he'd said that out loud. His uncle raised one regal eyebrow, then replied, "My nephew is right. It is too dangerous; if she is caught we cannot protect her."

"I won't get caught," the girl cut in. "I'm a ghost, remember?" She gave Thorin a wicked smile and a wink, and was gone.

_Ryn, for the sake of all that's good and sacred, be careful!_

Fíli was pushing him along. "Come _on,_ Kíli, run!"

He hesitated for only a moment, staring at the spot where she had disappeared into the trees, then took off after his brother.

* * *

Deorynn ran, sticking to the long shadows in the forest and climbing a tree near where she'd seen the last orc. It was wandering on the edge of the pack, trying to sniff them out. She stayed in the leaves, nocking an arrow and readying herself to shoot. She could tell the moment the animal scented her—its nose twitched and it stopped moving; providentially just below her.

The shot was perfect, and the orc was lying dead beside its mount three seconds later.

A grim smile graced the girl's features as she sighted another one and ran toward it. This one was slightly tougher, as it saw her before smelling her.

_Rukhsul._

It tried to howl, but received an arrow in its throat for the effort. The orc rider pulled a horn that was stopped in the same way, and the girl stabbed it in the heart to finish the job when she came to retrieve her arrows.

Ten orcs and wargs found their deaths at her arrows and knives that afternoon, until the terrifying call of that giant bear Bilbo had seen rent the air to her left, far too close for comfort.

Ryn decided the orcs could well deal with the bear now, she was definitely going to find her friends and get to the safety Gandalf had promised. She ran in the direction he had indicated, headed for the edge of the forest. It made her nervous; she usually ran _into_ forests for safety, not _out of_ them.

But the bear roared again, nearer this time, and she put on more speed.

She finally broke out of the tree line, and saw her friends running nearby, several hundred feet to her left and in front of her. She veered toward them, nearly laughing as she heard Gandalf shout, "Hurry!" and saw Bombur outstrip everyone on the way to a rustic-looking house directly in front of them.

She caught up with Bilbo, who was the last of them, just as they ran through the front gate, Gandalf winking at her as she passed him. The dwarves were all pressed up against the door of the house, and Deorynn looked back to see a massive black bear, the likes of which she'd never seen before (and she'd seen a _lot_ of wildlife), break out of the trees and head straight for them with another of those terrifying bellows. "Thorin!" she nearly screamed. He turned and looked right past her, his eyes on the Beast.

"Open the door! Quickly!" he roared, pushing past everyone and springing a latch the others had missed. The doors swung inward, and the entire party rushed inside, Gandalf at the very last, and suddenly Ryn found herself sprawled on a wood floor while the Company pushed on the doors, trying to close them; but the gigantic bear had its snout inside—_too near Kíli's head_—and was roaring its displeasure. Ryn scooted forward on her backside, sticking her right foot out and kicking the animal's paw with all her might. It pulled back just slightly in surprise, and that was enough for the rest of the dwarves to shove the door closed and latch it.

Sounds of relief surrounded her, laughs and pats on the back; but Deorynn only saw Kíli, leaning against the door and huffing, running his hands through his hair and meeting her gaze when he searched for her half a second later. She held his eyes just long enough to try to communicate,

_That was too close_.

But she looked away a moment later, allowing Bifur to pull her to her feet and into a rough hug. She smiled at the older dwarf and spoke to him in quiet, joyful Khuzdul.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kíli stomp off to join his uncle. Gandalf was telling Dori about their host—who was evidently the giant bear—a skin-changer named Beorn. Ryn felt her skin tingle; she had only ever heard of such creatures, and the thought of _meeting _one frightened and thrilled her. According to Gandalf, they would likely not see Beorn until the morning, however, so she made herself busy helping Bombur with dinner. There were herbs to be found in the house, as well as small game and lots of fruits. Gandalf said he thought they might eat as they wished, and so they did. Dinner was merry and filling.

Ryn only wished she'd been in more of a mood to really enjoy it, though she thought she did a good enough job smiling and laughing to keep everyone from suspecting anything was wrong.

_Well, most everyone._

* * *

Something was incredibly wrong with Kíli. Fíli wasn't his brother in blood and arms for nothing—he knew that smile was stretched too tightly, saw the distance between Ryn and Kíli where they sat—he had insisted Ryn sit between him and his brother, as she usually did—noticed that Kíli had watched the sun greet the day alone this morning. His brother had done an incredible job hiding it—the fact that everyone else, including him, had spent much of the day busy running for their lives and hiding from wargs and orcs and giant bears helped, he was sure—but he still knew something was amiss; and by the time dinner was over at this strange house they would be staying in that night, he couldn't stand it for another minute. He led Kíli to the far side of the room, where they wouldn't be overheard, and sat him down against the wall, taking a place next to him.

It was perhaps telling that Kíli went with hardly a protest or question.

"What happened?" Fíli asked. "You've been a right sulk all day long, and last night too."

Kíli's eyes narrowed. "We've been running for our lives most of the day, Fíli. I have not been sulking."

Fíli huffed. "You have too. You might be able to fool everyone else, nadadith, but not me. Something happened between you and Ryn last night." At the look on Kíli's face, he softened his tone. "Kee. Tell me?"

"I kissed her."

Fíli smiled widely. "Did you now?"

"She said she loves me."

"Well then, what is the problem? You're not thrilled by that?"

"She also refused me." Kíli looked at him, and now Fíli saw the unshed tears shining in his eyes. "She said no one would accept us, that I would be forced to choose between her and my family—between her and you, Fee. She didn't give me a chance to say anything, just told me she'd never allow that choice to be presented to me, and left."

_Of course._ It made sense that Ryn would make a decision like that. He looked over to the fireplace, his gaze locking on the girl sitting with her knees up to her chest and a blanket wrapped tight round her shoulders. She had gone over there with a book and the pretense of reading; but the book lay forgotten on the floor, and her green eyes stared into the flames. Fíli felt a sting of sympathy for her, as well, having lost so much and then falling in love with someone she thought she could not have.

She was wrong though, about at least one thing; Fíli would _never_ force his brother to choose between him and her, regardless of any other consequences that may have come about from their pairing.

But Kíli looked so forlorn and bewildered, Fíli pulled him close. "She's afraid of what happened to her parents happening to you two."

Kíli considered for a moment, then understanding and offense flitted in quick succession across his face. "I would _never _abandon her because people disliked my choice! Her father was a coward!"

Fíli hastened to calm him. "I know that, Kee, but then I've known you longer than she has. And you know I would never make you choose her or me; but again, you've known me longer than she has. She is right about one thing, though: being with her would be a difficult road." Kíli looked ready to protest, but Fíli kept going, "Maybe not because of her, specifically, but Kee, you know how people are. You think you've had trouble just because you can't grow a proper beard yet? They call you elfling just because you are a better archer than any dwarf anyone's seen in ages, and because you love to be outside. What do you think they would do with a scandal like this? A prince of Erebor loving a half dwarf, half human? A bastard child, at that? It would be a near-impossible situation. Uncle would be extremely difficult to persuade. Best case scenario, you two would have to deal with jeers and inappropriate comments and hatred directed your way for _years_ at least. Worst case? Uncle might disinherit you."

_That _sobered his brother, less because of the inheritance and more at the idea of losing Thorin, who had been nearly a father to both of them—and the only one Kee had ever known. He shifted uncomfortably in Fíli's arms and thought for a minute.

"But you'd never abandon me, Fee?"

He squeezed his shoulders tight. "Never in a million years, Brother."

"Then it would be worth it," Kíli sighed.

Fíli smiled against the sting of tears in his eyes and laid a kiss on Kíli's hair. "Indeed," he agreed.

Thorin found them that way, asleep, an hour later. He smiled fondly and tucked a blanket around their shoulders, shooing Ori and Dwalin who had come over to tease them about being boring and not drinking their share of the ale.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

A/N: Welp. This turned out to be a nearly-exclusively Kilyn chapter, though that wasn't my original intent….more on that at the end. Read, and then we'll talk.

* * *

Beorn's house was something of a wonder in itself, or at least Bilbo thought. The animals that lived there were obviously more intelligent than usual, and on the whole larger, as well. Bilbo himself particularly loved the dogs—and they seemed to have taken a specific shine to him as well, following him around the next morning as he readied himself for breakfast. He petted them each in turn, talking to them gently and promising to play later, before excusing himself.

The dwarves were already gathered round the table, enjoying a breakfast of fruit and milk. The skin-changer was gigantic, taller even than Gandalf. He had a mane—for there was really no other word for it—of black hair running down his spine, and looked as though he could easily have snapped a dwarf in two without any effort at all.

Bilbo took his seat at the end of the table, next to a tired-looking Deorynn.

Beorn was speaking. "So you are the one they call Oakenshield."

It wasn't a question, so he didn't wait for a response before continuing. "Tell me. Why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

Thorin avoided the question, looking rather grim at the mention of the Orc. "You know of Azog. How?"

"My people were the first to live in the mountains, before the orcs came down from the north. The Defiler killed most of my family." Beorn raised his arm to hold the pitcher of milk he had, and Bilbo noted the cruel manacle around his wrist. "But some he enslaved. Not for work, you understand; but for sport."

The room was absolutely silent.

"Caging skin-changers and torturing them seemed to amuse him."

Bilbo was horrified, but also amazed at one thing Beorn had said. "There are others, like you?" he asked.

The Bear-Man looked immeasurably sad. "Once there were many."

"And…and now?"

"Now there are few."

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, though the dwarves looked at their host with a new respect and shared grief. Beorn was not finished. "You need to reach the Mountain before the last days of autumn."

Gandalf confirmed, "Before Durin's Day falls, yes."

"You do not have much time. Though you do have some. Stay, I pray you, a day. Rest yourselves, for you are weary and injured; and I will see you properly outfitted for the journey tomorrow."

Everyone looked to Thorin, who nodded. "Our deepest thanks you have, Master Beorn. We could all use a day to rest up."

Bilbo thought so, but he was surprised the dwarf king agreed.

_Perhaps his own injuries pain him more than I realized._

Beside him, Deorynn was evidently having the same thought, as she stared hard at Thorin, frowning. He would talk to her about it later. For now, Beorn was speaking again. "You are welcome, Thorin Oakenshield. I don't like dwarves. They're greedy, and blind to the lives of those they deem lesser than their own. But orcs I hate more. I will give you what you need."

And that, it seemed, was that. Beorn left the house—to do what he evidently did not deem their business—and beside him, Deorynn exhaled as if she'd been holding her breath. Bilbo looked over at her, and she gave him a shaky smile.

"He makes me simultaneously awed and terrified."

Bilbo knew exactly what she meant. He smiled. "So how will you be spending your day off, my friend?"

She swung her legs and hopped off the tall bench. "Fixing things," she replied with a chuckle. "My clothes need mending, my weapons need sharpening, and I want to look around for some more healing herbs to supplement our supply of them. And then I thought I'd go meet those beautiful horses Beorn has—did you see them? Lovely creatures."

Bilbo laughed. "I did! And you're right, they're lovely indeed. The dogs and I have become friends. Have you noticed the animals here seem more—"

"—human? And the human here seems more animal? Yes," she answered. "I'd noticed."

Bilbo nodded, then ran to grab his pipe, sword, and coat. He too needed to tend his weapon and clothes, and he hoped Deorynn would let him keep her company during her mending and gathering. He found her with Oin, who was prodding the wolf bite on her leg. The stitches had evidently torn at some point between the High Pass and here, but the wound looked as though it had held together well enough. Oin was removing the stitches that were left, telling her he wanted to give it one more treatment of comfrey, after she'd bathed later. She had escaped infection altogether, though, which was a testament to her apothecary skills, he said with a smile. Deorynn smiled back and thanked him.

Bilbo spent most of the rest of the day in her company, keeping up a steady stream of chatter even when she didn't, enjoying just being around her; because goodness knew when they would get another chance to spend time together that didn't involve running or fighting.

* * *

Deorynn and Bilbo were talking to the ponies early that afternoon when Fíli approached them. The beautiful animals and a morning of Bilbo's stories had put her in a rather good mood; and her smile to the golden-haired dwarf prince was genuine. "Fíli!" she exclaimed. "Come meet these glorious beasts! They're almost smart enough to talk!" Fíli chucked a bay mare under the chin gently as he came over, crooning to the animal, which looked at him with intelligent eyes and nosed his palm affectionately.

Fíli smiled.

Deorynn couldn't help but grin at the sight of her friend, fierce and terrifying in battle, but gentle and sweet when his guard was down. He seemed to remember his errand a moment later, though, and pulled away from the magnificent horse.

"Ryn. I need to speak with you, please?"

Unaccountably, his tone made her nervous. He seemed very serious; had Kíli told him something? Was he angry with her? She sent Bilbo a strained smile and followed him. Fíli set a slow pace, taking the pebbled path that ran the perimeter of the grounds. He took his time gathering his thoughts, which only made her more and more nervous as the seconds ticked by. Finally, he said to her quietly, "Kíli told me about your conversation night before last, at the Eyrie."

_Blast._

She must've grimaced, because he smiled a little. "I'm not angry, Ryn. I just want to talk."

Deorynn nodded. "I'm sorry; go ahead."

"He said you told him you wouldn't let him be placed in a position where he had to choose between you and me, or you and his title," Fíli stated. He stopped and put a hand on her arm to turn her toward him. His gaze was a little fierce as he said, "I would never force him to choose between us, and obviously, neither would you. So you can set your mind at ease about that."

Deorynn shook her head. "Fíli, while I appreciate that, it changes nothing; you can't honestly believe anyone would allow us to be together, least of all Thorin! Kíli would either lose everything, or he would….leave me—just as my—"

"—Father did to your mother? Yes, that's half the trouble here, is it not?"

Deorynn glared. Fíli continued, quickly veering from that line of conversation; he didn't want to push her away.

"Ryn, do you realize that dwarves only truly love romantically _once_ in their lives?"

She nodded. "Our One, yes I know."

"So you realize what your refusal is sentencing my brother to? What you're sentencing yourself to?"

She blinked at him, a look of abject horror crossing her features. "Fíli, no," she whispered. "_No_. He can't…maybe he's wrong, and I'm not his One, I'm just some girl he happens to…like…."

Fíli shook his head. "Ryn, I don't think he loves you as deeply as he someday will, there hasn't been time for that yet; but there is no doubt in my mind his love for you is _real_. And yours for him as well; you're both terrible at hiding it. It's fledgling, but it's there."

_Oh Mahal, Kíli…._

"Then what must I do?" she was feeling close to panic now. "No matter what I do, I hurt him! If I refuse, he is alone forever; but if I accept….Mahal, Fíli, you know what people would do to us. To _him_."

"I don't deny it would be a tough road," Fíli answered. "But Ryn, you're forgetting: he's a prince of Durin's line. If we can convince Thorin—and we can, though it'll take some doing—no one is better suited to help beginning to change the prejudices that have plagued you since birth. People will talk, and fuss, yes, and maybe make things miserable for a while, but you'd have each other. And you'd both have me, and Thorin."

_Could he be right?_ She hadn't even allowed herself to hope for it, but now that he was saying it….

"Here's the bottom line: do you love my brother?"

Deorynn answered instantly. "Yes."

"Then make a choice and stick to it. If you're going to deny him, don't waver or give him false hope. But I would encourage you to commit yourself wholeheartedly to it, Ryn, and don't be afraid to take on the world for him. You've been doing it for years already, from the shadows and for yourself; but perhaps it's time to come out into the light."

_She was done hiding in the shadows._

"And Ryn?" Fíli placed a hand on either side of her face and pressed their foreheads together affectionately. "You need never fear he'll abandon you. He would rather die." She pulled back and nodded, giving him a slightly watery smile. "As would I, just for the record. For entirely different reasons, but…"

She hugged him, laughing breathlessly, then pulled back and answered, "I have to find him."

* * *

Deorynn walked back quickly to the house, flashing a brilliant smile at Bilbo as she passed him, sitting on a bench smoking, the sun on his face. She didn't slow, though, intent on her mission.

_I can't believe I'm doing this. _

She was pleasantly shocked at Fíli's support. It didn't solve everything, or even a lot of things, but it was _something_. And he seemed to think convincing Thorin was entirely possible, which would be something more.

_Maybe this can work._

Her stomach was in knots at the idea. There was fear, certainly; but also excitement and pure, unadulterated delight that she recognized, though she'd not felt it since the last time she heard her brother laugh. It was deep, contented bliss that came from being loved and loving in return.

Oh, she hoped he would forgive her.

She ran inside the house, refraining from calling out to him to avoid alerting anyone else what was going on. The house seemed to be empty though, and she remembered a discussion at breakfast about everyone going out for some fresh air while they tended their weapons. She sighed. Maybe she'd have to wait after all.

She checked the side room, the one with the big window, just to be sure—and stopped cold at the sight of him standing beside the open vent looking out, fear suddenly gripping her heart like a vice.

_Oh Mahal, I don't know if I'm brave enough to do this._

* * *

"Kíli?"

The soft voice sent a jolt through him, and he tensed. What did she want? He turned slowly to see Ryn; hair gleaming bronze in the sunlight that danced through the window, her hands clasped before her, and he recognized the look on her pretty face. It was that determination he loved so well, shadowed by intense fear, but not diminished by it. He softened at her obvious discomfort, replying with an equally quiet, "Yes?" She reached out hesitantly, her hand landing on his crossed arms, her fingers warm as she looked at him. He did not pull away.

"Fíli and I…spoke."

He cocked an eyebrow. Fíli had talked to her? About him?

"I'm sorry I hurt you, I just…I never wanted to hurt you," her eyes begged him to forgive. "I just didn't want to put you in a difficult position, but Fíli said…" she stuttered for a minute, then took a deep breath, going a different direction. "I never realized, it never occurred to me you might be willing to…go through all that trouble…for my sake." She shook her head as though trying to digest something she couldn't quite fathom, and Kíli's arms relaxed as he caught her hand between both of his. She looked up, seeming to gather courage from him. "I am more than willing to fight to be with you—whether that means fight a real battle, or fight society, or ridiculous prejudices—but you're the one with the most to lose here. I have nothing. Nothing to lose, and also nothing to offer you." She paused, obviously wanting to hear what Fíli had told her from _him_.

"Ryn," he said seriously, holding her gaze. "I'll not lose anything I'm not willing to give up, if I can have you beside me."

She stilled and the air left her lungs in a rush, as though he'd lifted a heavy weight off her shoulders that she'd carried so long she barely noticed it til it was gone. He gave her a minute, and when her eyes lifted and met his, the joy in them took his breath away.

She whispered his name, and her voice cracked. "Kíli—"

He pulled her into his arms, whispering gentle words into her ear while she clung to him, trembling. She pulled back a moment later, after gathering her composure, and looked him in the eye.

"This will not be easy."

"Nothing worthwhile ever is."

"People will judge us harshly."

"They've been judging both of us harshly for years, you more than me. Only now we'll have each other. And Fíli."

She smiled, then looked thoughtful. "We should hold off on any real movement on a relationship until the quest is over."

"Agreed. Convincing my uncle will take quite a lot of work, and there's no way he'll be able to give it the proper consideration while we're in mortal danger half the time."

"But…you _do_ love me?"

He smiled at this. "I do. My _idúzhib._" She shivered at the endearment and brought her fingers up shyly to stroke the stubble on his cheek.

_Mahal, yes._

He rubbed circles into the small of her back, feeling her shiver against him and smiling when her other hand tightened on his bicep. Her hand on his face slipped to the back of his head and pulled him closer. She murmured just before she kissed him:

"Good, because I love you, too."

Kíli couldn't think straight as her lips moved against his. This kiss was much more confident than the last had been, infused with a measure of sorrow and urgency that had been missing a couple of days ago. As the kiss lengthened and deepened, he ran his hands over her back before settling them low on her hips, pushing her back until she reached a chair the height of a table. He lifted her easily, setting her on it so her eyes were only slightly higher than his. She had her hands in his hair, and it was literally _killing_ him.

"Kíli?"

He nuzzled her neck, shuddering when a strangled whimper escaped her throat and her hands tightened against his scalp. "Kíli, please," she whispered, and he obliged her, pressing his lips to the pulse point that beat wildly in her neck, feeling it flutter against his tongue as she sighed blissfully. He moved back to her lips, pressing his tongue against the seam just so, requesting permission. She opened to him without hesitation, and Kíli saw stars when she caught on quickly, pressing her tongue back against his. A brief struggle for domination ensued; and with a giggle that he swallowed, she won, exploring the cavern of his mouth a little hesitantly.

Mahal, this girl would be the death of him.

"Well." A familiar voice chuckled behind Kíli, causing them both to jump and pull apart. "I must say that's an awkward scene to walk in on, even if it wasn't entirely unexpected."

Kíli wanted to punch that smirk right off his brother's face. Fíli just grinned maddeningly, "Thought you'd like to know that Thorin is on his way back inside and you may want to sort yourselves out before he gets back."

Kíli nodded and turned back to Ryn after Fíli left. Her lips were red and swollen, and there was an attractive flush blotching up her neck. He couldn't help but press one more gentle kiss to her lips, and she giggled again. Durin's Beard, he loved that sound….

"Kíli, stop," she was combing her fingers through his hair to tame it.

"Sorry," he mumbled against her lips, helping her down from the chair and stepping away from her, giving them both space to regain their decorum. Once she had herself pulled together, she smiled at him again.

"I'm going to go have a romp with the pups outside. Do you want to join me?"

Kíli grinned. Did he _ever._

* * *

*_idhuzhib_-precious one; lit. 'diamond'

* * *

A/N: Okay, first off, I couldn't stand the line in the movie where Beorn said he was the last of his kind. He wasn't, so I changed it. So yes, I know that's not actually what Beorn said in the film. :P

Secondly, everyone who's fangirling right now that Kíli and Ryn have made up, including me; don't get too comfortable. They've overcome only one of many obstacles. And frankly, I don't foresee the other obstacles being quite so easy to get past….

Third, the whole concept of dwarves having their One to love; I'm not even sure if this would canonically apply to Ryn, and the entire idea is hazy—trust me, I did try to research it so I could get it right (how does Kíli even know if Ryn is his One, or vice-versa?), and there's so little information about it that I just kinda had to make it up to fill in any blanks. For the purposes of this story, the One Concept does apply to Ryn as well; and there are no sparks or fireworks, necessarily, upon meeting your One—that knowledge comes later, which is why Ryn expresses a fear that perhaps Kíli didn't really love her, he just thought he did. Ryn isn't much thinking about herself here, only because she's always expected to be alone forever, not because she loves him any less. If there are any questions or huge holes in this concept, feel free to leave a review or PM and I will do my best to answer to them.

Thanks again for reading, hope you enjoyed this shamelessly Kilyn-fluffy chapter before we plunge right back into the action!


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: I apologize for the wait on this chapter; things have been pretty busy for me the last few days, and this chapter was difficult to get right. Many MANY thanks to **summerald** for giving me the necessary push to get the lore and concept for this chapter hashed out, and for the tips on character development! This chapter would honestly not be what it is without her help. Cheers to **Princess Quill** for being such an inspiration, and mad respect to **OrisounAsh** for sticking by me from the very beginning!

Happy reading!

* * *

Dinner that night was a merry affair, even with the presence of Beorn presiding. The dogs ran between the dwarves, huffing and playing, and everyone's spirits were high. Bofur and Deorynn sang, Fíli and Kíli forced Bilbo to dance, and all their antics were encouraged by the clapping and stomping of feet from the spectators. The night ended with several stories from the older dwarves, and then everyone was off to bed to be ready for their journey the next day.

Ryn approached Oin, who was talking to Thorin, before settling in; sitting down as he unwrapped the bandages and applied the comfrey, marveling again that she had managed to avoid any trouble with the bites.

Beorn saw the wound as he walked by and stopped. "What is this injury?" he inquired.

Deorynn gave him a small smile. "It was a wolf bite." Oin snorted. "A rather vicious one, too, lassie."

Beorn's eyebrow twitched. "How long ago did it happen?"

Ryn thought for a minute, trying to count the days, but Kíli had joined them and replied, "Seven days."

"It has healed that much in only seven days?"

"Aye," Oin answered. "It's got to be the herbs. Nothing else could account for such speedy healing."

Beorn looked skeptical. He grunted, "Gandalf, a word?"

"Yes, my friend."

"This girl. Where did you find her?"

Gandalf chuckled. "That is a long story, Beorn; would you be so kind as to be more specific?"

Beorn growled his impatience and grabbed Ryn's arm, digging his thumbnail into the tender skin of her wrist and scratching harshly. "Is that specific enough?"

_What?_

She tried to pull back as Kíli and Thorin both started in alarm—protestations leaving Kíli's mouth before Ryn even could process what had happened. The break in the skin oozed blood and stung, but a moment later, it began to glow.

…_..What?_

Ryn grabbed Kíli's arm with her free hand and pointed, effectively shutting him up. Everyone was riveted, including Gandalf and Beorn, as a golden light glowed from within the scratch, shrinking it. Within seconds there was nothing there—just unblemished skin. Beorn dropped Ryn's arm, and she let it fall, completely shocked.

_What just happened?_

"Eiri," Beorn breathed, and every dwarf looked completely confused, while Gandalf just looked shocked. "Do you have the Feldbrandr behind your ears, as well?" He moved as if to touch her hair, but she flinched back, and he stopped, moving back in a gesture of placation. "I mean you no harm, girl."

"Do I have the_ what_ behind my ears?!"

Gandalf cut in, gentling the girl. "The Feldbrandr was the mark of the Eiri—many of their descendants have one, although it's generally lighter and harder to see."

Deorynn was just as mystified at the end of this explanation as she was at the beginning. She shook her head, confused. Gandalf put a hand on her arm and said softly, "Just trust me, my dear." Deorynn looked at him, uncertain, and then relented.

"Kíli, you look," she said.

He pulled back her sandy waves and tilted her head toward the light as everyone leaned in close to see. What looked like a light brown birthmark marred the pale skin behind her ear. It was a swirling pattern that twisted in and about itself, reaching from the tip of her ear and disappearing into her hair line. Gandalf leaned back in surprise.

"Well, Deorynn. It seems you _are_ descended of the Eiri, the Master Healers of Old, Children of Estë."

Ryn just looked at him blankly. "I'm descended of the who now?"

Gandalf chuckled, but it was Thorin who answered. "The Eiri. A race in their own right, just as dwarves and elves and skin-changers. I did not know they actually existed."

"They have passed into legend," Beorn answered. "But some of their blood still flows through their descendants in Middle Earth in the races of men and elves. I have never heard of a dwarf with Eiri ancestry, though; the two races never got along very well, though the Eiri would of course heal them without hesitation should the need arise; and the dwarves would willingly protect them from orcs and that ilk."

Ryn had latched onto the mention of her father's bloodline like a starving dog to a bone. "My father was a Man."

Beorn looked at her as if assessing her anew. "And you travel in the Company of dwarves, call them your friends? They accept you as one of their own?"

She shrugged. "They are good people, and have learned to see past it."

His gaze shifted to Thorin now, with new respect, and he inclined his head to him, still speaking to Ryn. "Perhaps you are right and they are good folk. It is a kindness I'll not forget, for the Eiri and the skin-changers were especially devoted to one another, more so than any other societies in history."

Gandalf nodded, while Ryn looked as if she might burst from the need to know more. "Hamät, the first Leader of the skin-changers, made a pact with Falathir, the first King of the Eiri, never to fight one another, and always to come to each other's aid—a pact backed by powerful magic. It's why Beorn cannot hurt you."

The bear-man growled. "Not that I would want to. I only needed to be sure my suspicions were correct."

Another nod. "As you say. The Eiri were created by Eru at the behest of Estë, the Vala of Healing and Rest. They were imbued with her power, it is said, and were masters of herbs and healing medicine. They were quick to heal should they be injured, and were therefore notoriously hard to kill unless you managed it quickly. In addition, they had the ability to heal using the life energy of whatever was around them—plants, animals, other Eiri, elves, humans, and the like. This ability, called the Falancurú, was used only by those with the skill to wield it—an amateur trying to use it could accidentally kill everyone in an entire village."

Deorynn blanched.

"The Masters, however, could use the magic in such a way that instead of stealing lots of energy from one source and moving on when it was depleted, they could instead harness miniscule amounts of energy from multiple sources and therefore prevent unnecessary loss of life. Tell me, dear girl, have you ever been near death? Did anything…..strange happen?"

_She lay in the smelly tent, tied at her wrists and feet, screaming in agony at the poison making its way through her blood. Poisoned by her own blade, what a pathetic way to die. She was stupid, stupid, it was an idiotic thing to do, attacking a group of bandits this size; now they'd captured her and she was going to die here under this nasty little canvas and no one would ever even know…_

_She'd woken the next day to find the entire camp of bandits dead. Counting her lucky stars, she assumed some Rangers had come through, though it was odd that they hadn't burned the bodies. She had honestly given it very little thought, though, as she nicked a knife from near the ashy remains of the fire and cut herself free._

Deorynn felt sick. It was suffocating hot in the large room, and everyone was looking at her expectantly…she was sweating and lightheaded and _oh Mahal I can't breathe…!_

She stumbled outside, barely hearing them calling her name, and was sick in the bushes.

_I killed them all._

Which she might have done anyway—they were her enemies after all—but there was something profoundly different about this. They had not been able to defend themselves; this was no pitched battle or even a fight at all. She had leeched the life from them without any warning, by magic. And what if it happened again? Oh Mahal, what happened if she was injured _near her friends_ and they were the ones that….

She heaved again into the bush.

_No no no it can't be please say it isn't true….._

A hand touched her back and she jolted away with a yelp. "Shhhh, âzyungel," Kíli soothed, gathering her up in his arms. "Hush, Ryn, it's all right. Gandalf says it's nothing to fear, that whatever happened when you nearly died wasn't your fault, it was an instinct you couldn't have controlled."

She was sobbing now. "I killed them all! There is no honor in the way I destroyed an entire encampment of them….just because I was near death. What if it happens again?!"

Kíli shook his head. "Gandalf says you can _learn_ to control it."

Deorynn shuddered and pressed closer to him. He held her until her trembling eased, then smiled down at her, face so pale in the moonlight. "Are you afraid?"

She flashed back to the first time he asked her that; the first time she realized she was beginning to trust him. As she had done that morning, she nodded.

He rubbed her back and helped her stand. "Don't be. You're not alone anymore; we'll get through this together."

She nodded as he led her back inside. She looked at her gathered friends; word had evidently gotten around that something was up, and everyone was sitting, looking at her intently. She nearly quailed under their combined scrutiny, but instead gathered herself up and looked at Gandalf and Beorn.

"What must I do?"

* * *

The entire next morning was spent assessing Ryn's skills, specifically the use of the Falancurú. Beorn and Gandalf spent several hours helping the girl learn to identify and gather energy from her surroundings. She did manage to avoid killing any animals or people, although there was a wide circle of dead grass and shrubs around her before the morning was out.

"I am sorry we haven't more time; you must continue to practice your skills while on the road. Goodness knows when you'll need them in your future," Beorn stated gravely. "The Falancurú will come, in time, as you learn to manipulate the energy in the beings around you."

Deorynn simply nodded, exhausted after the morning's exercises.

"You should also know there are some wounds your healing—even the Falancurú—will not work on. Namely, those inflicted by magic or some poisons. No one knows why, but magical wounds cannot be healed by Eiri, any more than they can by anyone else."

"What if_ I'm_ struck by magic like that? Will the Falancurú make me…?"

Gandalf finished for her, knowing her fear. "Only if you do not learn to control it. Deorynn, the power is frightening, I know, but you must not fear it so much you refuse to acknowledge it. Such action could get people you care about killed. The better you are at using it, the less likely it will destroy someone you don't mean to destroy."

Ryn nodded again. "Yes, I understand."

After lunch, Beorn stuffed their packs as full as they could carry them and gave them fifteen horses. "I will stand guard for you," he said gravely. "But you must make all haste. Please send the horses back at the edge of the Mirkwood; your path lies through that place, but I would not have my animals there. Just let them free; they can find their way back to me."

Thorin was slightly disappointed they would not have horses through the forest, but he understood Beorn's attachment to them and didn't blame him in the slightest. Their road would only get more dangerous from here. He nodded to the bear-man, respect and gratitude evident even in the small gesture, and called to the Company, "Move out!"

* * *

The trip to the Mirkwood lasted the entire afternoon, before they camped on the edge of the ancient forest; but it passed in a blur to Deorynn. She spent a good portion of it rehashing certain memories, incidents in her life that had made no sense at the time but had just been passed off as oddity or good luck.

_Her wrist, broken from a fall out of a tree, healing in record time—the healer told her mother perhaps it just hadn't been as bad as they feared, and besides, children healed faster than adults anyhow._

_Smacking her head on a rock when she slipped during an outing in the forest one day; waking just before dusk without a mark or a bruise on her anywhere. There had been a circle of dry underbrush and a tree she was certain hadn't been dead hours before, though she'd barely noticed at the time._

_A sprained ankle that had healed in less than twenty-four hours—her mother was convinced she had lied about the severity of it to avoid chores…_

_The way her scratches and cuts seldom scarred…_

_Countless injuries on the road, and yet she never had to deal with infections…_

_Broken ribs that had mended far faster than they ought to have…_

Every one of these had been attributed to luck, or in the case of the broken ribs, the elven healing in Rivendell—but looking back on them with this new knowledge made so much sense. It felt a little like cheating, having an apparent advantage over others that originated in her very blood, but she could hardly complain; it had, after all, kept her alive multiple times over the last forty years.

And Gandalf said she could learn to make better salves, stronger medicines, heal wounds others could not. She looked at her friends.

_I can preserve their lives._

They would be facing a dragon soon.

Her mind made up, she spent the rest of the ride familiarizing herself with the energies around her—the animals differed from the plants, and the dwarves, wizard, and hobbit all differed from each other. The impressions came to her in colors and patterns; it was fascinating, if a bit odd. Plants held a pure but slow-moving energy that felt very green; animals a browner, more earthy vitality. Dwarves were surrounded by pearly silver that resisted when she tried to access it; Bilbo's energy was blue and pulsing with life; while Gandalf was pure, golden light that was nearly blinding if she focused on it too long.

Curious, she looked at her own hands, trying to see her own energy. Her eyes widened.

Fiery red intertwined with the same pearly silver she saw in her friends, and little spots of sparkling white danced off the edges of her fingers. She couldn't help the awed "wow…." that escaped her lips.

"What's it like?"

She hadn't even noticed Bilbo pull up beside her. She started a bit, her sight clearing, and smiled at him.

"It's beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful."

* * *

End A/N: The Eiri are not mentioned in canon anywhere. I made them up, but this story has definitely crossed into AU! territory at this point, so I'm allowed. I hope you enjoy learning about them as we go further into it. In case anyone is wondering: the name Eiri comes from the Norse goddess of healing, Eir. The term "Falancurú" comes from the Quenya (literally, 'to heal with power/energy'), and the Feldbrandr is loosely translated as "cloaked mark."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this one! I thoroughly enjoyed the portrayal of Mirkwood in DoS—it's a really trippy place, and I tried to capture some of that in this chapter. Don't worry, there's nothing super 'whoa, where did _that_ come from?!' but our favorite members of the Company are definitely struggling with the evil that lives there.

Oh, and 'Eiri' is pronounced "Ay-iri," in case anyone was wondering. I forgot to say that in the last endnote, oops.

* * *

Fíli awoke the next morning to find Ryn and Kíli sitting beside the embers of their campfire, surprisingly _not_ facing east. It took him a moment to realize why: the forest was east, and there was just no way to watch the sun rise through it. It was far too dark and thick and menacing.

He didn't like that forest, and hardly blamed them for forgoing their usual practice this morning. It didn't appear to have dampened their enthusiasm though; they spoke softly and smiled often, watching the vast grasslands to their north, west, and south for any sign of orc activity. Fíli laid his head back down—it wasn't quite time to rise yet, and snores still issued from the rest of the camp—and watched the two for a moment.

Kíli had not had the best luck with the ladies in the past. He had no beard, so the lassies didn't find him attractive; which Fíli silently believed was simply ridiculous. Not that _his_ opinion on his brother's appearance mattered much...plus there was the whole matter of Kíli always shooting a bow, hunting, climbing trees, his complete lack of talent in the forge. The girls back home just…ignored him completely, except the one pair of sisters who had had a wager going they could bed them both. Fíli had seen right through the eldest one, who came after him; but Kíli was so flabbergasted a lass paid him any mind that the younger caught him right up. It had broken his heart when he found out it was nothing more than a bit of coin for her.

Fíli had never been so angry.

Ryn, though, she was nothing like that. Fíli regarded his friend fondly; she hadn't been looking for love when they'd found her. She hadn't even been looking for companionship, really. She had been a loner, and content that way. Fíli thought perhaps part of what had drawn him to her from the first was how well she could take care of herself: she never apologized for who she was—which reminded him of Kíli—but she knew how others might respond to it, and was always ready to handle their ill tempers or snide remarks. She never had an agenda or any aims other than to do what she thought was right. And that hadn't changed as she settled into the idea of having friends, and someday a family and a place to belong.

Watching the two of them fall so hard had been—and continued to be—a pleasure. Kíli gave Ryn acceptance and stability she hadn't known before; and she balanced his natural impetuosity and recklessness (usually) with her experience living in the wilderness all these years. Deorynn wasn't afraid to kick Kíli in the proverbial shins when he was being stupid or reckless; and he wasn't afraid to go after her when she pulled away from him, whether out of habit or fear or stubbornness, pulling her back to them even while she fought it.

Their mother would be thrilled, he reflected with a smile. When this was all over, he couldn't wait to see Ryn and Mother meet and interact. He worried briefly about her reaction to the girl's bloodline, but only briefly; for he had remembered something the night before that was going to be a very decisive advantage for Kíli and Ryn when they told Thorin, his mother, and later the Court.

But first, they had to defeat a dragon. He wasn't sure which was actually the bigger feat.

Fíli sighed and wriggled out of his bedroll, causing them to turn and smile at him. "Good morning," he greeted as he walked past to go about his morning routine.

"It's certainly a lovely one," Ryn called back.

He was uncomfortably aware of where they were going, though, and added under his breath: "For now."

* * *

"This forest feels….sick," Bilbo declared. "As if a disease lies upon it."

"Aye," Ryn agreed, almost to herself. "The colors are all wrong, too." At Bilbo's look of bemusement, she elaborated, "plants are a green energy; this forest is shot through with sickly dead grey and even black. It's…unsettling."

Bilbo looked at Gandalf. "Is there no way around?"

"Not unless we go two hundred miles north, or twice that distance south."

Bilbo looked distinctly uncomfortable, fiddling with his thumb and forefinger in his front pocket. Deorynn had noticed him doing that a lot, and thought it a rather odd tic. However, the forest before them loomed in her mind too largely to leave room for Bilbo's nervous habits.

This forest was really wrong. Something bad awaited them inside, her gut told her. She had learned over the years to listen to that feeling when it occurred, and it made her nervous that she had no choice but to go forward at this point.

Gandalf asked for his horse a few moments later. He had told them he would be leaving them this morning when they entered Mirkwood, and Ryn (after Bilbo) had begged him to stay.

"_Please, Gandalf, this new magic; I cannot wield it yet."_

"_My dear, you will be fine. You have had a good start, and much of it is instinct. It is as much a part of you as your ability to be silent and swift; something that gets better with practice, but that you already possess. Follow your instincts regarding your power, and they will not mislead you."_

"_You promise I'll not accidentally kill Thorin's entire company by mistake?"_

_He had chuckled a bit at that. "I can promise you that, Deorynn; no such thing will happen. That sort of thing only happens in the direst of circumstances, and now that you're aware of the power, it's much less likely to happen. Just keep honing your skills, and be especially careful when working with the falancurú. I cannot stay; I would not do this if I did not have to, but I will return soon."_

_He had turned to go, then, but stopped. "One more thing. Don't forget that you are an elf-friend. Should you run into any of the Woodland Elves, it might just save your life."_

Now Ryn stood with her arm around Bilbo as he deflated watching Gandalf ready to leave. The wizard stopped in front of him and gave him an appraising look. "You have changed, Bilbo Baggins. You are not the same hobbit as the one who left the Shire."

Bilbo's shoulders quaked, and he gave Gandalf a weak smile. "I was going to tell you; I found something in the goblin tunnels."

"Found what?" the wizard looked interested. "What did you find, my dear fellow?"

Bilbo swallowed. "My courage."

Deorynn squeezed his shoulder, and Gandalf smiled, grimly. "Good, well, that's good! You'll need it."

He moved on, but Ryn did not remove her hand from Bilbo's shoulder as it began raining. "I'll meet you at the overlook, on the slopes of Erebor," Gandalf was saying. "Keep the map and key safe; do not enter that mountain without me."

Thorin nodded.

Gandalf mounted his horse. "This is not the Greenwood of Old; the very air of this forest is heavy with illusion. It will seek to enter your mind and lead you astray."

Bilbo interrupted (as he often did when hearing something he disliked, Ryn had noticed), asking her softly, "lead us astray? What does that mean?" Though Gandalf was already answering him:

"You must stay on the path; do not leave it! For if you do, you will never find it again." Thorin turned to lead them into the forest, and Gandalf turned his horse to run the opposite direction. He shouted back as he rode away,

"No matter what may come, stay on the path!"

* * *

By dinnertime (not that it was possible to tell time in here, the day was perpetually dim; he only knew because his stomach alerted him), Kíli had decided that if he never saw another twisted, massive, moss-ridden tree in his life it would be too soon. This place was awful; the air was heavy and thick, suffocating. It seemed to buffer every sound and absorb it, reminding him of how he often felt underground—claustrophobic, as un-dwarflike as that was. The others seemed to be handling it fairly well; but rather than cheer him, the fact only made him vaguely angry and rather shamed, bringing to mind taunts and jeers about being an elfling and was he sure he wasn't adopted, memories that echoed in his head without ceasing—with the result that he was a perfect snappish beast by the time they made camp for the night.

Thorin called for a halt, to which his brother muttered, "Finally. I'm exhausted." And flopped down right where he was. Kíli rolled his eyes and nudged him with his foot. "Come on, you great oaf, at least get out of the way first."

Fíli glared, but scooted to one side.

Kíli plopped down beside him and pulled out that evening's rations. Uncle had called for no campfires here, and double watches, and naturally he and Fíli were first up. Everyone else was completely worn out as well—the air here did more to a person's energy than the actual walking did—and they all just sat down and ate silently. Ryn came over to sit beside Kíli, forcing a smile for him that he barely managed to return.

She gave him some of her dried beef. "Here, do you want this? I can barely stomach anything tonight."

Concern stirred in his belly. "Are you all right? You need to eat." She shook her head. "I ate the fruit and the bread; I just am not very hungry. My stomach is usually the first thing to act up when I'm under stress, and this place…" she trailed off with a barely-suppressed shudder.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered. "Still. You save that meat, you might be grateful of it later, before we manage to get out of this infernal forest."

She nodded and stuffed the food back into its container in her pack, leaning back and looking toward the sky. There was nothing to see but a misty greenish ceiling over their heads, so Kíli wasn't surprised when she sighed in disappointment and closed her eyes.

* * *

She wasn't sleeping—though she was tired and would be grateful for a rest later—but working with the energies around her. The forest made the work harder—it was difficult to focus through the stifling heat and heavy air—but she could still make out the pearlescent shimmers that surrounded her dwarven friends, and Bilbo's bright blue sparks. Everyone's auras seemed a bit duller in here, but she would've been surprised if they weren't.

Moving on to the forest around her, she shuddered visibly. The forest was _alive_, there was no doubt of that; in fact, it was more alive than any of the plants she had encountered at Beorn's or on the way here, the sheer power she could sense was staggering. It was nearly sentient, and _threatening_. Following her instincts, she reached out to it, curiously; it roared in her ears, striking back with a force that set every nerve ending afire and left her curled in a ball next to Kíli, shaking.

Someone was calling her name, hands on her shoulders turning her onto her back, and she shot upright, smacking Fíli in the nose with her forehead.

"Ow! Ryn, ow!"

"Oh, Valar, Fíli, I'm so sorry! Are you all right? Here, let me…" she hastened to help and he shoved her away, not unkindly.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. What about you?"

Kíli's face was white. "You looked like you were having some sort of fit."

Several of the dwarves were looking at her with concern, a couple as though they thought she'd gone mad. She shook her head and waved them all off. "Sorry, everyone, just was trying something new. It didn't work well."

Thorin grunted. "Whatever it was, don't try it again. You woke the entire camp."

She reddened. "Sorry."

Kíli gripped her arm as everyone went back to their various attempts to sleep. "What _was_ that, Ryn?" She shivered. "_That _was the forest. There is something definitely sick about it."

"Did it hurt you?"

"Well, it _hurt_, yes," she responded shakily. "But no permanent damage, no. Can I try something with you?"

He managed a smirk, and she interrupted him with a smile. "Not like that, Kíli, get your head out of the gutter. I want to try with you what I just tried with the forest. I want to see if the reaction is always that…intense."

He shook his head. "Might not be a great idea, Ryn…."

"It'll be fine, don't worry. Here…" she fell into that sight that allowed her to see his energy, and reached for it with her mind, as she'd done with the forest. Kíli gasped softly and she smiled; so he _could _feel it. She didn't do anything, just let her consciousness brush his aura and left it at that. After a moment she released him.

"Amazing."

He shifted, shook himself. "That was exceedingly…peculiar. Like…an itch or something, except there was nowhere to scratch."

She laughed a little. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again; I just needed to see if someone would be aware of it when I take some of their energy for healing." She looked around, uncomfortable. "I've already established some moral ground rules for it, though."

Kíli looked confused. "Moral ground rules for healing?"

She nodded. "Things like, I'll not take energy from friends or allies, no matter how small the amount, without their express permission. Enemies in a melee…that's different; if my choice is to save an ally at the expense of an enemy, then it's no different from fighting in battle. Plants and animals—a bit more like hunting and gathering, I'll try to preserve them, but if they die, well…" She sighed. "This whole thing feels uncomfortably close to way too much power, in my opinion. I shouldn't be able to choose who lives and who dies."

"Don't you already, sometimes?"

She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Kíli looked thoughtful. "When you're hiding in the trees watching a group of bandits ready to hurt or kill a young family, and you pick them off, or even engage them in battle; aren't you choosing who lives and who dies? Or at the very least, you're attempting to, which is all you're doing here. It's just a different method."

Deorynn thought about his words well into the night, long after his watch was over and he lay down an arm's length from her and fell asleep. If he was right, and this was all just another way to do battle; then it definitely required guidelines, rules of honorable behavior. And since she had no one to ask, she was going to have to determine those rules herself.

Tomorrow.

For now, the stuffy air was making it too difficult to think; so she made sure Thorin was asleep, turned over, buried her face in Kíli's back, and drifted off to the sound of his heart beating steadily in her ears.

* * *

The next day was much the same, plodding along in the heat and the stuffy air, trying to keep to the path, walking, walking, walking. At the end of the day, Deorynn worked with Bilbo on her newfound abilities—the touch of her consciousness was the oddest kind of tickle—and then they ate and slept.

The day after was the same.

And the day after that, and the one after that.

Bilbo lost count of the days as they melded into one endless plodding journey. No fresh air, no sunshine, no relief; just more and more of this perpetual walking.

Did this forest _ever _end?

The dwarves had all become more grouchy, not that Bilbo blamed any of them, petulant and angry and quick-tempered. Even Deorynn was snappish sometimes, though more often than not she was lethargic and sad. When he asked why, she said the forest made her feel more alone than she had been since she met them all.

Bilbo understood. It seemed to creep into their minds and use their greatest fears and pains against them. He himself felt frightened and hopeless, convinced he'd never see home and hearth again.

The thought was debilitating.

* * *

Thorin blinked his confusion as they turned another corner and saw yet another clearing that looked…

…_Exactly the same as the last one._

Were they going in circles? Dwalin certainly thought so, and loudly. Thorin wished he would shut his face. He tamped down a perverse desire to turn around and shove his fist right through his friend's fat mouth and instead focused on the path.

This was the path, right?

It certainly _looked _like the path. Well, as much of one as there was, anyhow. The path hadn't been clear for over a week now, by his reckoning. The cold fist of panic settled in his gut; they were lost, and Gandalf had said they would not find the path again if they lost it…

They were going to wander this forest forever….

Behind him, several of his kin were shouting and insulting one another; bereft of hope and exhausted, they were beginning to succumb to the effects of the forest.

"Quiet!" he growled viciously, turning to regard them all.

"We're lost!" someone cried plaintively. Thorin nearly lost his temper. Had he not said to be _quiet_?

"Bilbo! You're the smallest and lightest; climb up above these infernal trees and see if you can get your bearings. Figure out where we are!"

Bilbo rushed to do as he was told, and Thorin turned his steely gaze back to the rest of the company, daring anyone to say a word.

No one did.

Until Deorynn screeched a warning, he felt a sting in his back, and everything went dark.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: Enjoy! Endnote at the bottom.

* * *

Bilbo climbed and climbed, the twisted trunk of the tree making for easy hand holds and foot grips, until finally; he had reached the very top. He brushed aside the red and gold autumn leaves and stuck his head out, and breathed such a sigh as he never had before.

Oh the sheer bliss of the wind in his face! And air that wasn't stifling or hot!

Bilbo just stood there for several minutes, loving the absolute joy that was breathing; stunned into awed silence as the wind stirred up a herd of lovely blue butterflies, filling the sunset-golden sky with their soft wing beats. He simply couldn't believe the glory of it; he laughed delightedly.

Remembering his mission, he called down to his friends, "I can see a lake! And—and the river!" Pushing aside a few branches, he gasped in awe of the rugged, mist-covered peak that stood closer now than he'd ever seen it.

"And the Lonely Mountain! We're almost there!"

When no cheers or happy replies were forthcoming, Bilbo stuck his head back into the trees—just marginally; he wasn't ready to leave the fresh air yet. "Can you hear me? I know which way to go!"

Still nothing, except the crackling of branches in the distance. "Hello?" Looking back up, he noticed an odd shiver in a tree far off to his left, accompanied by a sharp _crack!_

Then another—closer this time.

"Hello…." He murmured to himself, as the treetops in front of him began twitching and swaying, the branches crackling and breaking. _Something _was in the trees.

And he was willing to bet it wasn't his friends.

Ducking back below the leaves again, he looked around for the source of the cracking and the snapping. He could see nothing from the vantage point; he needed to be a little lower. He went to step down to the next branch…

And stumbled as his foot stuck to the branch. He teetered, struggling, then "oh, come on…" as he lost the fight and went plummeting into the forest below.

* * *

When the first spider had struck Thorin and he collapsed, the Company had burst into action, but it was too little, too late. Ryn had vaguely heard someone call her name as she was struck before she could even draw her dagger—a deep, penetrating pain in her side. She had cried out as she spun, her blade meeting hard exoskeleton, but stabbing deep nonetheless. The thing had let out an incredible squeal that made her cringe, but she was already on to the next one, slicing at its legs.

She had missed, stumbling as exhaustion swept over her in a wave.

Shaking her head, she'd tried to stand again, calling out to her friends before noticing they had all collapsed and were being…oh Mahal.

They were being cocooned in silk by _giant spiders_.

_Oh, Mahal._

Her eyelids had drooped then, a sleepiness she couldn't resist swamping her. She'd fought it, but the last thing she'd seen before she blacked out was Fíli and Kíli, lying side by side as the spiders closed in, out cold and _still_ inseparable.

She awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of blood in her head. The pressure in her ears made her think she was hanging upside down—but she couldn't see anything to confirm the fact. When she opened her eyes, all she could see was hazy white before her face, with shapes and shadows moving about in confusing ways. It made her feel sick, honestly.

She closed her eyes again and used her ears instead.

Branches creaking and swaying, odd clicks and chitters—that must've been the spiders. How many there were, she could not tell, but it sounded like a lot. Quelling her nausea—she _hated_ spiders—an idea struck her.

Her ability to sense energy…it wasn't bound by the cocoon that held her, or at least she thought not. She accessed the magic and opened her eyes again.

The forest surrounded her, its angry presence stifling; she didn't dare try to touch it again. And there were her friends, all glistening pearl in amongst the filth and sickness. Their auras were dim, but brightening—a phenomenon she took to mean they were unconscious, but slowly coming to. Bilbo was nearby; his brilliant blue pressed against her awareness, but she couldn't tell where he was, though she knew he was alert and moving.

_Be careful, Bilbo, I beg of you._

Also in amongst the sickly green, though, were spider-shaped shadows of dirty brown. Not the healthy, loamy brown of earth or the sparkling bronze of the horses they'd ridden here all those days (weeks?) ago, but a diseased sort of malignant brown, like something that had begun to rot.

Taking a deep breath—_I think I can do this, I __**hope**__ I can_—she focused on the nearest spider and reached out, willing herself to take some of the life energy it possessed and use it to heal her own dizzy, weak body.

_Myself first, in case this doesn't work or goes terribly wrong… _

The effect was instantaneous; she felt stronger (though its life force left a bad taste and felt rather unnatural), and the creature just to her left collapsed with a squeal, not dead, but certainly weakened enough to not be able to navigate the trees, and it fell gracelessly to the forest floor below. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, and her own silver and red aura flickered brightly as her strength was restored.

_Mahal, I just did that._

Not wanting to absorb any more of their disgusting life force than absolutely necessary, Ryn nevertheless repeated the process; but this time, she siphoned off the energy and willed it toward whichever dwarf was closest to her. His aura flared as he absorbed it, and she heard him begin to struggle below her. The spiders converged on him, chittering excitedly, and she gasped as panic gripped her; it appeared as though she had just made things worse instead of better.

Gathering her focus, she decided to try something chancy—she was willing to bet she could draw the life from several of them at once, weakening them at least enough to shift their attention away from the wriggling and grunting dwarf she had awakened. A bad feeling niggled in her chest at the idea; she wondered if this was how young Eiri had accidentally destroyed villages, but she couldn't see another option, they were all dead anyway if she couldn't get rid of these disgusting creatures…

Suddenly, they stopped, and all but one of them skittered off in another direction. She didn't know what had happened, but she was far too relieved to question it; and besides, the dwarf was still in danger. The spider that had stayed behind was still focused on his meal, which was struggling in earnest now, yelping and trying to get free. She shuddered and gathered her strength, ready to kill it, when suddenly there was the ring of steel and an unearthly scream issued from the creature.

Its life force was dimming quickly, there was no time, so she pulled as much of it as was left and sent it toward the rest of her friends. It was little more than a tiny jolt for each of them, a small blip in their auras, but it was enough. They all began to stir, muffled noises of protest and alarm reaching her ears like music.

Bilbo was there moments later, and suddenly she was falling, something soft breaking her fall just before she hit the ground. She wiggled, her hands gripping at the silky cocoon and ripping it. Eventually she got her arms free, the rest of her following rather quickly, and a sigh of relief escaped her.

Everyone was there—she counted thirteen dwarves, and Bilbo was doubtless up in the tree still—coughing and ripping at their cocoons, standing and gathering their wits about them. Thorin, in a rare moment of complete transparency, had rushed to his nephews and was helping them clean up and get their bearings, folding them in his arms briefly before turning and assuming what Ryn privately called his 'King Face' again—stiff and stern.

Kíli ran to her, sliding to his knees beside her and looking her over for injuries. She smiled and squeezed his forearm—_I'm fine_—but allowed him to help her to her feet while returning the favor and making sure _he_ was undamaged.

"Where's Bilbo?" Bofur fretted.

"I'm up here, I'm-!"

Ryn gasped as Bilbo's reassurances were cut off with a panicked shout, and looking up brought the punch of awareness that the spiders had returned. She drew her daggers without hesitation—there was no way she'd be able to focus enough during an actual battle to use her magic, not yet—so she was going to have to fight the old fashioned way.

She decided she was okay with that.

* * *

The spider had caught Bilbo off guard, so relieved was he that his friends were all alive and kicking. He stabbed it with Sting—a fitting name for a blade such as his—and, as spiders do, the thing curled in on itself, sweeping him up in a makeshift sort of cage as it fell. His ring slipped from his fingers on the way down, and he felt a slightly irrational swoop of panic in his belly—he needed his ring!

He landed hard on the spider's lifeless body when it hit the ground, then jumped down and began searching the underbrush frantically.

_Where is it, where is it? I need it, must find my ring…._

The ring was inexplicably tied to his developing abilities as an adventurer, in his mind. He had acquired it and found his place in Thorin's Company right around the same time, and the dwarf king had come to respect him…without his ring, he knew he'd not be able to live up to Thorin's regard, because honestly, the only reason he was able to do anything he did was because of it.

He _needed_ that ring.

After a minute of stumbling about, he saw it, glimmering gold against the dead vegetation. Relief flooded his veins and he hurried toward the shiny metal, only to pull up short with his sword in a defensive position as an underground trap opened and he found himself face to face with a clearly aged and decrepit giant spider.

The thing was clearly barely able to catch its own food anymore, hissing and screeching weakly at him, old and feeble and slow…it wasn't long for this world anyhow; he could've probably killed it with a well-placed stab in the face and been gone.

But as it crawled toward him, it bumped his ring, knocking it momentarily out of sight, and Bilbo was overcome by a completely aberrant rage, roaring and attacking the creature in a mindless fury. He slashed and stabbed far more than was necessary, and took a sick pleasure out of the release of his wrath—every awful thing he'd felt and thought over the past many days filled his mind and drove Sting into his enemy harder and faster.

When at last the creature stopped moving, he stood there, leaning on his sword and panting heavily, his eyes searching the ground for one specific precious item….

He reached down and picked it up carefully, eyeing the dead carcass at his feet spitefully.

"Mine."

He backed up and sat heavily, trying to catch his breath, still staring at the ring. Slowly, his mind began to clear, his senses returned, and he felt suddenly drained and ill. He looked at the decimated remains of the elderly arachnid, and the blood that covered his sword and himself, then back at the ring, which suddenly seemed much less precious and much more insidious.

But that was silly. It was a ring, a golden bauble; it had no personality or character.

The ring was not evil. It had simply been the catalyst that brought out the evil in _him_.

Bilbo heaved a short sob and clapped a hand over his mouth to fight back the urge to vomit. What had he done? Who _was_ this hobbit he had become?

_What have I done?_

* * *

"Fíli!"

Thorin heard Deorynn shout his Heir's name, and whirled to see his blond nephew and the girl attack a massive spider that held Kíli tight in its clutches, aiming a sting at him from its tail end. The roar of rage that escaped the boy made his hair stand on end, and he was briefly reminded yet again of how much Fíli had grown—well, both of them had—and the walking armory he had become. A swell of pride bloomed in his breast, quickly checked by another of the huge monsters that met its end at the edge of Orcrist a moment later.

The fight was over in the next few moments, and he turned his attention to leading his group away from here. "We're clear!" Dwalin shouted, and Thorin began to run.

He stopped short when yet another spider appeared in front of him, and a tall slender creature that was definitely _not_ a spider fell from the trees to swiftly dispatch two of the monsters in quick succession. Thorin wanted to tear his hair out.

_Rukhsul._

The blond elf slid to a graceful stop just in front of him, bow drawn taut and an arrow inches from Thorin's forehead. He did not need to look to know they were surrounded by the haughty tree-shaggers, though he glared as fiercely as ever, refusing to show fear.

"Do not think I won't kill you, dwarf," derision dripped from the elf's voice. "It would be my pleasure."

_The feeling is entirely mutual, whelp._

But there was a shout in the distance and a fuss from the back, as Fíli noticed the absence of his brother.

"Kíli!"

"Wait, wait, please!" Thorin's eyes widened as Deorynn stepped forward, right in between him and the elf's waiting arrow, holding something on a silver chain.

He knew by sight it was mithril, shaped into an elven rune he recognized as meaning that Deorynn had, at some point, been named an elf-friend.

Mahal, but she was full of surprises.

"Please," she was saying. "These men travel with me. My name is Deorynn Elesser, called Miriel by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I am an Elf Friend, and we mean no harm, we seek only to pass through the forest. Help us, please."

The blond elf wavered.

_Good girl._

"I have heard of you," the young elf said quietly. "Word has it you are honorable and courageous, a jewel among Men." His gaze hardened. "I heard nothing of you being a _Dwarf._"

She lowered her voice, speaking in a conciliatory tone, "I am half human, half dwarf. If that displeases you, the only answer I can give is that it is something I had no control of. Please, just…judge me by my actions, not those of my parents."

The elf blinked, then slowly lowered his arrow, slightly. Thorin held back a sigh of relief; the others who surrounded them had not. "I am sorry," he said. "I cannot allow your company to simply pass. You are welcome in our halls as a guest, but these you travel with must be searched, disarmed, and imprisoned until you are led before King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm to account for your presence here."

There was a pause, and Thorin knew the girl was searching for a way to get them out of this.

_Naïve young thing._

There would be no alternative; they were going to be thrown in cells, and she was going to be interrogated.

"You would deprive a Lady of her guard?" Deorynn demanded, surprising the dwarf king with the haughtiness she managed to muster. If there was one thing Deorynn _wasn't_, it was arrogant, though he had to admit she played the part well. "All while you threaten her safety, and require her to come with you against her will?"

The elf's blue eyes flashed. "_You_ are an elf-friend, _they_ are not. All who enter here as potential foes must be disarmed, and I cannot allow you to simply pass through without permission from the King of this Realm. You will speak to him, and when he gives you permission to leave, you will take your guard and go. Until then," he softened, apparently searching for a more diplomatic way of putting what he had to say. "Consider it a show of good faith. Proof that you mean us no harm."

A pause, and the girl nodded slowly.

"Search them," the elf commanded, and then added, for Deorynn's benefit, Thorin suspected. "But do not harm them."

Deorynn turned to Thorin with a deeply apologetic look, and he nodded slowly to let her know all was well. She had done everything she could, and likely prevented what could've been a far rougher and uglier confrontation.

At that moment, a she-elf with long red hair strode into the clearing, leading Kíli firmly along, though not cruelly, to join the group before conferring briefly with the blond one. He locked eyes with his nephew, inquiring after his wellbeing, and received a nod in return.

He sighed and submitted to the search, mentally attempting to ready himself for the ordeal that lay ahead.

This would be unpleasant.

* * *

Deorynn stood, watching her friends be searched and disarmed, swallowing thickly. The elves did not attempt to take anything from her, though a couple of them eyed her warily. She did her best to appear haughty and aloof and unfeeling, trying to act as if the group were just a guard and not the only friends she had in the world.

Despite her fear, she nearly laughed at the elf disarming Fíli. She had discovered early in their friendship that Fíli stored knives in just about every place one possibly could be stored—even more so than she did. The elf was quickly growing frustrated, and Fíli had the most smug, annoying smile on his face; one she'd have been tempted to slap off if she'd been on the receiving end of it. Trouble seemed not far away though, as she heard the elf commander calling Gloin's young son Gimli a "goblin mutant". She winced, knowing just exactly how protective of their wives and young ones dwarves could be, and Gloin perhaps more so than others she'd met.

She rushed over to the elf, hoping to distract him and prevent any serious injury befalling the young, obviously brash blond.

"Excuse me," she stated shortly. "I don't even know your name."

He turned away from Gloin and regarded her, a mixture of haughty aloofness and undeniable curiosity. After a moment, he answered.

"I am Legolas, son of Thranduil."

"The Prince of Mirkwood?" She curtseyed; hoping good manners might endear her to the royals. "I did not know, your Highness, pardon my tone."

He gave her what was nearly a smile. "No harm done, my Lady. I've not been particularly kind to you, either. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She smiled back. "_Mae govannen, hîr vuin_."

"_Le nathlam hí, Miriel,"_ he responded, bowing politely.

The redheaded elf signaled to him that the searches were complete, and he called to his men to move out. The prince gestured for her to walk with him, so Deorynn fell into step beside him at the front of the group.

Now she just had to think up a story about why she was travelling with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit…

_A hobbit. _

They had not seen Bilbo. _She_ had not seen Bilbo since he cut them all free.

She fell into her Sight to find him, searching for his aura frantically in her mind, relaxing a moment later. He was nearby. _How_ he was still undiscovered was beyond her, but she barely cared, so long as he was alive and safe.

And thus the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was led into the Halls of the Woodland Realm.

* * *

_Mae govannen, hîr vuin_—Well met, my lord (nice to meet you)

_Le nathlam hí, Miriel—_You are welcome here, Miriel

* * *

A/N: The scene where Bilbo takes on that old, decrepit spider and goes a little crazy on it was one of my very favorite scenes in DoS, because of the acting that takes place just after he gets the ring back. Martin Freeman does an incredible job of communicating Bilbo's thoughts there, and I wanted to explore that in this chapter.

I also thoroughly enjoyed exploring how Ryn's presence (and her title as an elf-friend) would affect the outcome of their meeting up with Legolas and his men (plus Tauriel, naturally). Now it's her in the hot seat, and this should be interesting….


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32 **

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: At the bottom, y'all. Enjoy!

* * *

Thranduil watched the young woman before him with great interest. She looked quite calm, standing on the platform in his Great Hall waiting respectfully for him to begin the conversation. He wondered at it; he suspected everything she was about to tell him would be a carefully thought-out lie, yet her mannerisms gave away no indication of guile.

He only knew because Lord Corudîr had seen Oakenshield personally as they led the prisoners into the Halls and below. Had his advisor not brought him word, and his only indication of falsehood was the expression on the face of the girl before him, he would likely have seen very little reason to distrust her.

He still _would_ have, but not for any nameable reason.

As it was, he looked forward to hearing her story, woven with lies though it'd be. He found himself curious as to what she thought might garner freedom for herself and her allies. The promise of payment? Declarations of friendship? Threats of reparation? The last one made him nearly smirk—he feared no such threat, especially not here. His borders were tightly controlled; the dwarves had only made it so far as they had because he had personally allowed it.

With a soft sound that might've been a snort, he rose from his throne, looking haughtily down at the woman.

"So you are Deorynn Elesser, called Miriel among the elves of Rivendell."

She bowed her head respectfully. "I am, my Lord."

"While it's always a pleasure to meet an Elf-Friend," he said slowly. "It is curious that you are this far East. I was told your exploits have taken you South and West, but never anywhere near here."

"That is accurate, Your Majesty, I have never been through the Mirkwood before."

"Then why are you here now?"

"I am trying to locate what may be all that's left of my family."

"Your family?" Oh, she was good, this one.

"My father's kin, my Lord. I am told they may still live in Laketown. That is where I and my guard are going."

Thranduil sat, crossing his legs and looking down upon this girl weaving such clever lies. He had to give her credit—it even fit what little he knew of her, that her mother was dead and her father unknown, it made sense she would quest to seek him out.

_Well done, little one._

"And your guard?" he questioned. "How came you by them?"

She shrugged. "I met them in Ered Luin. Dwarves are hardy and strong, good for traveling and defense when it's needed. I am paying them well when we reach our destination, and that has been enough to ensure their services."

"Did no one tell you of the relations between Mirkwood Elves and Erebor Dwarves?"

Ah, there it was, a tiny twitch of the jaw. Gone almost before he noticed it.

"Erebor, my Lord? These dwarves have nothing to do with Erebor. And I rather hoped my status as an elf-friend would protect them as well. Clearly I was mistaken."

Thranduil sat back, waving off her jab. "As King, I am tasked with the protection of this realm. Whether you appreciate the manner in which I do so is not my concern."

She bowed her head again, a bit more stiffness in her shoulders. He had annoyed her.

Good.

"What _is_ my concern, however, is the fact that Thorin Oakenshield now sits in my dungeons, having sent a woman to do his treating for him."

The girl's eyes widened.

"He didn't—"

"What did he promise you, girl? Riches beyond compare? A share of the dragon's hoard? A home?" Thranduil saw the last one hit, heard the tiny rush of air that meant he had struck a nerve. He stood and slowly descended the stairs from his dais, his tone harsh. "So he forced you to appear alone before the King of the Woodland Halls for interrogation, expecting you to weave a story clever enough to get me to trust you enough to let you all go?" He took advantage of her momentary shock to completely disregard her personal space, leveling her with a steely gaze only inches from her face. "He threw you to the lions. What a King."

She shook her head hastily, standing her ground. "No! He forced me to do nothing! He didn't even know of my title or my elven name…"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "So you deceive me of your own accord?"

He saw the fear in her eyes, quickly masked. Saw her realize her blunder and curse herself for it. Saw her come to a decision and harden her eyes, meeting his aggressive stance with one of her own.

"I attempted to deceive you out of concern for my friends' safety. If you wish to throw me in your dungeons for being loyal to those I care about, feel free, but I'll not apologize for it. Your Majesty." She added, almost an afterthought.

She was spirited; Thranduil had to grant her that. Stubborn, but not unduly so. He assumed that came from the human half of her bloodline. Or perhaps the less-visible, but no less influential part of her that made him desire her favor, or at least her cooperation, for many reasons.

"No elf lord would throw a named Elf-Friend in the dungeons for telling a falsehood that has caused as little trouble as yours has," he stood to his full height so he was looking down on her again. "Nor would any elf knowingly harm one with the blood of the Eiri in her veins."

At that, the girl _did_ take a step back, tiny though it was. Thranduil observed easily the connections her brain was making at lightning speed. "You can't force me to use my power," she stated slowly, as if to convince herself as much as him.

"Nor would I try," he answered softly. Did she not understand? No, of course she did not. She couldn't; how _could_ she understand the constant pain of the injuries the dragon-fire had inflicted, injuries that had afflicted him without respite for a thousand years? No one knew about them except his closest kin, the magic he kept cloaked over his physical form hiding the worst of the fire's damage. There was no way she could understand the hope that had stirred in his breast when he had sensed the magic of the Master Healers in her. No, he would not force her; it would be akin to _forcing _the Lord of the Forest to carry him into battle—a crime never to be considered, even if it were possible.

But she did not know enough of wood elves to know any of that, so her fear made sense.

"I would offer you my help."

She blinked. "Why? I do not require your help."

"Ah, but you do," he continued. "You have this power, but know not how to wield it."

"What makes you think that?"

He nodded to the gash in her side, the hole punched in her leather armor. "Because if you knew how to wield it, you would not be standing here before me injured. Nor would any of your friends in the dungeons be suffering the after-effects of the spider's poison."

The girl shifted, perhaps newly aware of the pain she bore. He pressed on. "We have libraries here, with all the old lore of the Eiri. Many of us knew them when we were younger, worked and fought beside them and knew what they could do. You are capable of things you've only dreamed of, Miriel."

She stopped fidgeting at the use of her Elven name. "So you would teach me to use my power, in exchange for what?"

"I, and several of my people who have not yet sailed to the West, are afflicted with…old injuries that can only be healed by the magic of the Eiri."

The girl seemed to consider. Thranduil knew he'd hooked her, though; the Eiri never did turn down an opportunity to heal, and he could see the compassion working in her eyes.

After a moment, she nodded. "Teach me these skills, and I will heal you and your people to the best of my ability."

Thranduil had to fight to hold back a smile. "Done. I will have Morannen show you to your room."

She nodded, but paused before turning to go. "Your Majesty, what of my friends?"

He waved her off. "I will speak with Oakenshield, as he is obviously the leader of your Company and the one to treat with."

"They'll not be harmed?"

The girl obviously had no experience with Elven dungeons. "Of course not."

She nodded, still looking nervous, but went with Morannen.

Only when she was gone did he allow himself to smile.

* * *

Oh Mahal. Valar, she had just made a deal with the King of the Woodland Realm and she was in so much trouble.

_So. Much. Trouble._

Thorin would _kill_ her when he found out. She snorted inside her head—since when had Thorin's wrath prevented her from doing anything?

Well, unless you counted _not _snogging Kíli senseless whenever he was around. But that was neither here nor there.

She felt a small glimmer of pride though, that she had managed to stand her ground in front of Thranduil, of all people. _And_ she had specifically worded her deal with him so there was no time constraint on it—if Thorin worked out a deal with the Elven King, she would still be free to finish the quest with him, then come back to help Thranduil. She had not mentioned the quest, unsure what Thorin wanted Thranduil to know, and not about to get her sticky paws in there and mess _that_ up; but she had managed to make a deal that didn't involve breaking her promise to Gandalf and Thorin.

She sighed in relief. It had been a difficult thing to get through—Thranduil was a strong personality, almost overwhelming. And he had said she could learn from his tomes and his people about how to use her magic!

_You are capable of things you've only dreamed of._

The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

Her quarters were lovely indeed, similar in structure to what she'd had in Rivendell, except underground. The lack of sunlight might have bothered her weeks ago, but they'd been in that accursed forest for so long she was almost accustomed to it. And regardless, she was more grateful to have a soft place to lay her head than anything.

Which reminded her that her friends did not. She sighed. Hopefully that was a temporary arrangement. Perhaps Thorin would handle his conversation with the king well enough that they might even have rooms before tonight too!

Though she doubted it.

Morannen was telling her about linens and whatnot, showing her the wardrobe and promising to bring some clothes that would fit her so she could change out of her filthy, travel worn ones. Apparently she was to appear at dinner in three hours' time—though the thought exhausted her. She really just wanted to sleep. The blonde she-elf gave her a smile and asked if there was anything else she required. Ryn shook her head, feeling a bit dazed, and Morannen took her leave with a graceful curtsey.

Ryn sat down on the bed as soon as the door shut, unlacing her leather corset. A bath, that was what she needed. A hot bath and a nice nap.

"Before you go undressing, you may want to know I'm here."

Ryn shrieked, standing so fast she knocked herself off balance and ended up on the floor, looking up at Bilbo, who was holding back a smirk.

_That wouldn't have normally happened…blasted spider poison._

"Bilbo, I swear to Mahal if you don't stop doing that I'm going to shave those pretty little curls right off your fat head!"

Bilbo looked affronted. "My curls are not 'pretty,' my lady, and your reaction is always so amusing, how do you expect me to stop?"

She growled, and he smiled again. "I really am sorry."

"How did you get in here, anyway?"

He sat down in front of her, cross-legged on the carpet, and pulled out the ring. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. I found this magic ring in the goblin tunnels."

He laid it in her palm and she examined it curiously. The gold band shimmered in the firelight, heavy and warm in her hand. She stared at it, finding herself unwilling to look away. "It's lovely. What does it do?"

He smiled and took it back, fitting it to his finger and disappearing before her very eyes. She gasped, and he took it off, reappearing instantly.

"Wow," she breathed. "That is incredible, Bilbo."

"It's been rather useful, yes."

"So the elves don't know you're here."

"No, thankfully. Otherwise I'd be in a cell, too."

Ryn smiled. "Hopefully, the cells will be a moot point soon. For now, you could probably use a rest and a bath as well—why don't you bathe and then get some sleep. You should sleep with the ring on, though, just in case one of these elves barges in."

He nodded. "That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Deorynn."

She smiled at his back as he closed the door to the washroom.

_A magic ring. Who knew?_

* * *

Kíli sat in the relative darkness of his cell, fidgeting. They'd given up trying to bash their way out of the cells hours ago, and some elf guards had come to take away Thorin not an hour before. He suspected it was to be interrogated by Thranduil, thrice-cursed elf king of this horrid forest. As for Kíli, he was bored out of his mind, and boredom was never something he'd handled well. It usually ended with him talking Fíli into something foolish, and both of them getting into massive amounts of trouble before it was all over.

He wished he could talk to his brother now.

He was also worried, and worry made him fidget worse than boredom did. If Thranduil was talking to his uncle, that meant Ryn's story had failed to convince the king; there was no telling what that _shirumund_ had done to her in retaliation for lying to him. She could be being tortured right now, or even dead, for all any of them knew.

The thought had him on his feet, pacing furiously in his cell.

_Mahal, let her be safe._

He heard guards outside, and rushed to the door, watching as they manhandled his uncle back into the tiny cell above him and to the right. He struggled, just to be stubborn, Kíli knew. His uncle didn't really expect to get free, but he wasn't about to go quietly.

"Did he offer you a deal?" he heard Balin ask Thorin.

"Yes," his uncle growled. "I told him he could go _ishkâk vê ondor núl_…him and all his kin!"

Kíli snickered, despite their situation.

Balin, however, sighed. "That's that, then. A deal was our only hope."

Thorin's voice came quietly. "Not our only hope."

Kíli called out, because he _had_ to know. "Uncle? What of Ryn? Is she hurt?" He saw Fíli come to the door of his own cell across from him.

"I did not see her; though Thranduil swears she's unharmed and settling into a guest room as we speak."

"Do you believe him?"

Thorin paused. "Yes. If he had hurt her, he would've gloated about it during our conversation. He didn't, therefore I believe she is fine."

Kíli breathed a sigh of relief, and Fíli smiled knowingly at him.

_Oh, shut up, nadad._

* * *

Dinner with the elves of Mirkwood was not nearly as stuffy or awful as Deorynn had anticipated. Upon entering, she'd been immediately swept up by Legolas—_the Prince,_ she reminded herself—and introduced to most everyone in the room. It was impossible to remember everyone, although two in particular stuck with her long afterward.

The first, of course, was the elf that Thranduil had selected to help her with her Eiri abilities. Galaron was tall, even for an elf, and introduced himself as the Garden Keeper and Chief Apothecary of the Woodland Realm. She wondered at the idea of gardens in this angry forest, but Galaron explained that the forest was healthy here in Thranduil's realm—he made sure of it. He had known many Eiri in the First and Second Age and had spoken at length with them concerning their abilities. He had learned his apothecary craft from them, and had rather hoped to someday be able to mimic their healing power through the magic of the elves. Unfortunately, the idea had never come to fruition; and when the Eiri died out, he had been forced to abandon it altogether.

A little while later, she had met the red-headed elf who had brought Kíli back to the rest of the group when they'd first been found by the elves. The lass was beautiful indeed, and Legolas beamed as he introduced her as his friend and Captain of the Guard, Tauriel Itaril. She bowed with a hand on her chest, and Deorynn returned the gesture, a bit less gracefully. "I have heard of your many exploits, Miriel," she said, her eyes merry. "I hope you do not mind that I am greatly curious about them."

"Not at all," laughed Ryn. "I would be happy to answer any questions you have."

And so it had happened that the girl spent most of her evening deep in conversation with the Captain, and they had parted with the seeds of friendship planted.

The one dark spot to her evening—and it had been a considerable one—was the discovery that Thorin's conversation with Thranduil hadn't gone nearly as well as her own. She was half-tempted to lay the responsibility for that entirely at Thorin's feet, but she knew it had been a two-way road. Thranduil had indeed abandoned the people of Erebor at their greatest need—_her_ people, almost as much as Thorin's, and at least as much as Fíli and Kíli's—and there was a frightening amount of bitterness between the two kings. In addition, Deorynn was not foolish enough to believe Thranduil wasn't using her. He wanted something, and she could provide it, and that (along with the pendant Elrond had given her) kept her out of his dungeons, for now.

She went back to her rooms with a heavy heart that night, wondering how in Arda she was going to proceed now.

* * *

Bilbo awoke to someone calling his name softly.

"Bilbo? Bilbo, please wake up. Are you even in here? Mahal, it's strange talking to someone I can't see."

He pulled the ring off and turned over on the small couch he'd been sleeping on. "Mmmm? What, Deorynn? I'm still sleeping…"

He came fully to consciousness when her fingers snapped in front of his nose a minute later. "Bilbo, wake up. We have a problem."

He growled and rubbed his eyes. _Not enough sleep…_ "I'm up, I'm up. What's going on?"

"The dwarves are still in the dungeons."

"What?!" Bilbo sat up, now fully awake. "I thought you said—"

"—I know, I hoped they could work it out. But evidently, Thranduil is less willing and Thorin more stubborn than I anticipated." She sighed. "He's sentenced them to stay there until Thorin agrees to the terms of his help—which likely involves a share of the spoils, which makes his refusal all the more understandable."

"Why doesn't he just let him have a share of the gold? Erebor is supposedly brimming with it."

"I don't think Thorin's refusal has as much to do with the riches as the fact that he doesn't trust Thranduil to hold up his end of the bargain. There's a lot of bad blood there, Bilbo, and while I may not agree with Thorin's choice, I can certainly sympathize with it."

_It's always more complicated than it needs to be…_

"So what are we going to do about it?"

Deorynn gave him a wicked smile and lowered her voice. "We're going to help them escape."

* * *

_Ishkâk vê ondor núl—_I typed this out just from listening to it, so it may be transliterated wrong. Richard Armitage says this insult means "I pour excrement on your head," though that doesn't make a whole lot of sense in the context of the sentence…maybe it's more "I told him he could go pour excrement on his own head, him and all his kin!"

_Shirumund—_Beardless one

* * *

A/N: I spent the last couple of days trying to get a good enough grasp of Thranduil to write him in character, and ended up rather fascinated with him. I didn't plan to do any of this in his POV, but it sort of just flowed that way, and I like it.

Also, I'm going with the premise that there is something about the Eiri that elves can sense through magic of their own. It would make sense that Thranduil would be familiar with the Eiri if they only became extinct after the War of the Last Alliance—which you'll hear a bit more about in the next chapter. Suffice it to say that by the time Thranduil incurred his wounds by dragon fire, there were no Eiri left who could help him.

Tauriel's name was originally supposed to be Itaril, according to the LOTR Wiki. It means "shining light" and I liked it so much I used it as her surname.

Thanks again to all of you who read, follow, favorite, and review! I'm always excited to hear your opinions!


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33 **

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: A bit of a talky chapter here, guys, and some Legolas POV! Hope you guys enjoy!

A note about pronunciation: from my research, the eth (ð) is pronounced a very soft 'th', like in the word 'them.' If anyone knows I'm wrong, feel free to correct me.

* * *

Legolas wandered the halls of his father's lair, headed toward the gardens. He was troubled, and the gardens of the Woodland Realm were among the most beautiful in all of Middle Earth. They were also his private sanctuary; where he went when he wished to think deeply and be surrounded by beauty. In the months following his mother's passing, when his father's grief had sent him to a dark place his son could not reach, the gardens had provided a haven for the young prince. The Garden Keeper Galaron had been understanding and kind, and allowed the youngling to wander the rows and isles of towering trees, flowering shrubs, and blooms both luxurious and plain for as long and as often as he needed to. It was an understanding between them now, and though Legolas didn't often require the solitude and comfort these days, he knew the place was always available if he did.

He was glad of it today.

His father's words to him regarding the young descendant of the Master Healers among them concerned him. He had summoned Legolas to his private chambers—a sign that something was amiss, if nothing else—the night before and given him a directive that Legolas was not entirely approving of.

"_My son, what do you know of Miriel?"_

_Legolas had answered without hesitation. "Only of her exploits against the orcs and bandits along the Great East Road—Lelaenil, the travelers call her—and that she is fiercely protective of her guard, and they of her."_

_Thranduil had scoffed. "They are not her guard. Thorin Oakenshield is amongst them; the fool is going to try to reclaim Erebor." Legolas scowled; he knew of the Durin's slights against his father when Erebor was still a mighty kingdom. Dwarves were, on the whole, greedy and selfish creatures that he wished to have as little to do with as possible; but the descendants of Durin were quite possibly the worst of them, due to the mind sickness to which they were so susceptible. They were too often willing to destroy even those they loved for the sake of a bit of shiny gold. That Thorin was attempting to retake Erebor was disturbing news, indeed._

"_And the girl?" he'd inquired, uncomfortable now that he had been unable to read her lies in her face. _

_His father had waved off his concerns dismissively. "She tells a good story. But that is partly why I have called you here. I have plans for her."_

_Legolas had stilled. _

"_I want you to draw her out," Thranduil had said. "Make her trust you; find out anything she's hiding. Something we can use to our advantage."_

"_Father, did she not already agree to help us?"_

"_She did," his father had glared. "But she has already lied to us both once; would you have me trust her given word?"_

_Frankly, he would have; but Legolas could not say that to him, not when his mind was already made up._

"_No, Father, I understand your concern."_

"_And you will do as I bid?"_

_Legolas had replied instantly with a nod. "I will get to know her and see what we can use to ensure her cooperation."_

"_Good. You may go, ionneg."_

And he would do as his father commanded. He would get to know the girl, find out what made her heart beat, her blood boil, what made her the person she was; as promised.

Whether he would reveal any of those things to his father was a different question.

Legolas would protect his realm, and his family, as fiercely as his father would; but he had a terrible feeling about how Thranduil was handling this. Thorin Oakenshield and his ilk could rot in those cells for all he cared; but this girl was something entirely different, and he would not have her forced into anything when she had already promised everything he had asked of her.

If nothing else, they could not afford to lose the favor of one as rare as she.

He stopped at the sound of laughter coming from one of the many fountains in the garden, an unfamiliar laugh. Curious, he walked quietly toward it, staying out of sight. A smile crept over his downturned lips when he saw from whence the sound had come.

Galaron was sitting with a giant tome in his lap, reading something aloud to young Miriel, who had her eyes closed and a smile upon her face. Magic, white and pure, shot through with shades of green, sparkled in her palms, twirling around her slender fingers and up her wrists. He had never seen Eiri magic—their descendants were so few already, and often died without any knowledge of who they were, the magic was so weak in their blood and so difficult to detect—but it was a sight to behold, indeed. Galaron looked as though he had been handed one of the Silmarillion, and smiled too as he told the girl, "Very good, now send it back."

The magic shot out of her hands in a circle when she pushed her arms outward, emerald sparks settling in the plants around her. Slowly she opened her eyes, the look on her face one of sheer contentment.

* * *

Deorynn could not believe the amount of joy what she had just done left her with. After _hours_ of work, she had managed to gather negligible amounts of energy from the hundreds of plants around her, gathering enough to easily heal a nasty wound without damaging any of the delicate flora. Of course, that newly-acquired skill was useless in a fight, because it required several hours of effort to execute; but Galaron promised her it would come faster as she practiced. Just the fact that she'd managed to do it was a huge accomplishment. Her magic wasn't as strong as the full-blooded Eiri he had known, Galaron told her, but that was to be expected, and it was certainly strong enough to do some amazing things.

She looked thoughtful, exhausted now after giving back every bit of the energy she had borrowed from the surrounding plants. "So I have a question."

"Please, ask it."

"How did the Eiri die out?"

Galaron looked immeasurably sad. "That, my dear, is a long and sorrowful tale; but one you have the right to hear, I suppose."

"The Eiri lived and worked among the peoples of Middle Earth—they always thought the best way to use their healing abilities was to be near those that needed to be healed—but regardless of which kingdom they lived in, they all bore allegiance to their King; who reigned over the largest Eiri city of Fjallstadr in the Misty Mountains, before the orcs overran them, just south of Moria. You can still see the ruins, if you can find them. Perhaps someday I will take you there, if you wish."

Ryn nodded.

"The Eiri, despite being healers, were quite fearsome in battle. They were more delicate in form than dwarves, but they healed so easily and quickly, and they were so light on their feet, they were difficult to catch, much less kill. Some of them—few, but some—even learned to turn their healing powers about and use them to fight. The ability to drain your enemy of energy is a valuable skill if used properly; the problem was, the energy had to have somewhere to go. Many Eiri unintentionally killed themselves when they took on the energy of their dying enemies but had nowhere to send it." He fixed his gaze sternly on her. "Best to not try that until you're much stronger in your abilities—if you ever are that strong."

Ryn, wide-eyed, agreed. "Yes Master Galaron."

"Good girl. Now, their ability to heal and fight made the Eiri invaluable on the battlefield. Fighting alone, they were formidable; but they only fought for defense, and then only on behalf of one of their allies. As you can imagine, in the War of the Last Alliance, the Dark Lord had a vested interest in destroying them; so he created a strain of orc specifically designed to target the Healers. They were the Orcs of Gundabad; the largest, fastest, strongest, and most hateful of his creations. In the final battle, while the innumerable forces of Sauron harried the armies of men, elves, and dwarves; the Gundabad Orcs targeted the Eiri only—unfortunately, the Eiri had gathered in unprecedented numbers; sending every available Healer to the Battle. Utilizing a new technique for Orcs, they didn't just randomly attack them, but waited until they were in the midst of a Heal, then struck while they were vulnerable."

"Almost all the Eiri were killed this way, before anyone even had time to process it. Though the battle was won, the Healers—and their entire royal line—were lost, and they faded into legend after that."

Ryn looked at her feet, for some reason blinking back tears, and asked shakily, "So there are no more full-blooded Eiri, or…any settlements of their descendants?"

Galaron shook his head. "I am sorry, my lady, you are the only one we currently know of."

She shuddered softly.

"May I borrow that tome?"

At that, Galaron smiled again. "You certainly may, but I doubt you'll be able to read it. It's written in Orð, the old language of the Healers. I can teach you, though, if you wish."

Deorynn very much did wish, so they spent the rest of the afternoon working on reading and speaking Orð, which she caught onto rather quickly. Galaron also lent her the only existing Westron-Orð dictionary, which was one of the most prized tomes in the Library.

She went back to her room just before dinner, her arms and head full of new knowledge—and new worries.

* * *

Bilbo spent the day locating the dwarves and exploring Thranduil's Halls quietly, invisibly. He came back to Deorynn's room around dinnertime, his stomach growling, but loath to steal anything outright. Instead, he removed the ring with a sigh of relief just inside her door, after checking to see who was in the room—it was empty for now.

Minutes later, Deorynn entered, laden down with dusty tomes and wearing the oddest look on her face.

"Good evening, my friend."

She noticed him and spared him a smile. "Hello, Bilbo. Did you find them?"

He nodded. "I did. The dungeons are several levels down. It's darker, but they're warm and fed and look healthy enough."

The girl looked relieved. "Did you speak to them?" she asked.

"No, I didn't want to be caught."

"I'll see if I'm allowed to visit them. I want to be sure they know we're all right, and besides….I miss them." Her gaze was wistful.

He gave her a knowing smile, to which she slapped his shoulder. "Shut up, Bilbo."

He laughed. "I didn't say anything! But to be honest, I miss them too." He gestured to the books now resting on the end table. "Did you learn anything interesting today?"

Her eyes sparkled. "I certainly did!" And she told him all she had learned. Bilbo was an excellent audience; looking delighted, interested, and horror-struck at all the right times, asking questions and keeping her talking until well after dinnertime. They were interrupted by a knock on the door a couple hours later.

"Bilbo!" Deorynn hissed. "Put the ring on!"

He did, then watched from the shadows as she opened the door. It was the blond prince, Legolas, and he had a large bowl before him, a delicious smell wafting from it. He smiled, and it made him instantly less foreboding, Bilbo thought.

"Miriel. We missed you at dinner."

She gestured to the now-open tome upon her bed. "I am sorry, I got distracted. I do hope I did not offend the King…"

He waved her off. "Not at all. But I brought you some food, if you're hungry."

"I am, in fact. Thank you, your Highness," she made to shut the door, and the elf opened his mouth as if to speak. She paused.

"Pardon me, my lady, but I heard you have some skill with a bow?"

Deorynn nodded. "Some."

"Would you be opposed to providing me with a demonstration tomorrow?"

"Oh! No, of course not! That is, I'd be happy to!" she was smiling again. "I have a question for you as well, though."

He nodded regally.

"I was wondering if I may visit my friends, prisoners though they may be?"

The prince looked distinctly uncomfortable at that, his gaze turning sorrowful. "I am sorry, my lady, my Royal Father has forbidden it." Deorynn blinked. "Why?"

"I cannot say. He does not feel the need to explain his decisions to me."

She sighed. "No, I suppose he doesn't. Thank you anyway, Prince. Will you meet me here in the morning for your demonstration? I do not know the way to the Training Grounds."

He nodded again. "I shall. Sleep well, my lady."

She bowed and shut the door, muttering as it clicked closed, "not likely."

After she was certain the Prince had walked away, Deorynn signaled to Bilbo and they ate together, sharing the large bowl of vegetable stew. It was delicious, but Deorynn didn't seem to enjoy it very much, and Bilbo thought he knew why.

"I could take him a message, you know."

She looked confused. "What?"

"Kíli. I can take him a message if you like."

Deorynn looked ready to protest that it wasn't Kíli she was missing most, but paused and then didn't bother. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "It's odd not having him around, knowing he's in a tiny cell with no one to talk to or touch, cut off from light and fresh air…" she shuddered. "And I just miss talking to him."

Bilbo smiled, repeating his offer. "I can take him a message if you like."

Deorynn looked around, then grabbed a small stick of lead and a bit of parchment. She wrote some runes, Khuzdul he guessed, as he recognized none of them, and then folded the parchment into a tiny square and handed him both the note and the lead.

"He can write on the back if he wishes to respond," she said quietly. "I'll be here, reading."

* * *

Kíli banged his head gently on the stone wall of his cell, sighing.

_I. AM. SO. BORED._

_I. AM. GOING. TO. LOSE. MY. MIND._

He had been sent to his room multiple times as a child; usually alone, since their mother learned early sending both he and Fíli to their room together was a good way to just generate more trouble. But at least those imprisonments were short and he had books to read, toys to play with.

As it was, he had paced his cell until his feet hurt; he had hummed quietly every song he knew, told himself stories and imagined up new ones, and engaged in enough brooding and thinking to give him a headache. He had come up with only a couple of things from all this thinking, the foremost of which was that he missed his brother. He hated not being able to speak to him, hug him, joke with him and nudge his shoulder when he laughed.

But he also came to accept, after about eighteen hours of trying not to think about it, that he missed _Ryn_. She was alive, in good health, probably enjoying the hospitality of the elves (whom he still didn't trust, so that thought gave him no peace); he wasn't really worried or frightened for her, not like before, when she nearly died; he just…missed her.

"Rukhsul," he spat, casting about for something else to think of.

"You oughtn't curse so, Master Kíli," came a whisper from outside the door of his cell. "It's not becoming of a prince."

He blinked. Bilbo was there, and he was quite sure he hadn't been moments ago. He started and ran to the door eagerly.

"Bilbo!" the hobbit shushed him, and he quieted considerably. "Bilbo, what are you doing here?"

His friend smiled. "Visiting you all," he responded. "I must be quick; Deorynn wanted you to know she is all right. The elves are teaching her to use her powers; it's going quite well, from what I can understand of it. She also said," Bilbo paused and lowered his voice further. "She said she misses you and gave me this."

He took the folded note and stick of lead with wide eyes. Bilbo winked. "I'm going to go visit your kin; I'll come back before I leave if you wish to write something back to her."

Kíli couldn't help the grin that lit his face as the hobbit dashed off to visit the others, and opened the note. The Khuzdul runes were written in a steady, straight hand, with a small flair he recognized as all Ryn's.

_Dearest Kíli,_

_Please do not fear for my safety; the elves treat me quite well. I am terribly worried about you all and hope your imprisonment is not painful or harsh. _

_Also, I miss you so much it's nearly physically painful. I cannot watch the sunrise from here anymore than you can, but I wake early and you're always the first thing I think of. Hang on, my_—here, there was a swirl of unfamiliar runes—_Bilbo and I are working to get you out._

_Idhúzib-më_

Kíli blinked, at both the assertion that he was the first thing on her mind, and at the signature. The addition of the possessive "-më" was a rare form, but one he recognized: it was one of the most silent, unobtrusive ways that existed in Khuzdul of expressing a lovers' relationship. She had signed, "your jewel," both honoring his nickname for her, and implying she was his and his alone.

His breath caught.

_Oh Ryn…_

He scribbled back quickly in Khuzdul:

_My sweet Ryn,_

_We are treated well enough, for prisoners, please do not worry. I miss you too, and can hardly go an hour without thinking of you. However, the thought of you in physical pain hurts me as well; I am with you in my soul, sweetheart. I miss the sun, don't you? Perhaps we will see it again soon, together. I will not lose faith, but await our escape anxiously._

_What is the sign you used in your note? The word was not Khuzdul, and I don't recognize the letters._

_Bazhundush-më_

He didn't like using Fíli's nickname to refer to himself as Ryn's love, but she had not graced him with a nickname of her own yet, so it would do for now. He folded the little note protectively, though he knew Bilbo would not be able to read it, and handed it to the smiling hobbit.

"Chin up, Master Kíli," Bilbo whispered. "We'll get you out of here soon."

"Bilbo," Kíli grabbed his sleeve. "Please look out for her."

Bilbo looked him in the eye. "I shall, for both our sakes."

* * *

The next morning was full of weapons training, an unexpected treat for Deorynn. Legolas was impressed with her skill with the bow, though his _far_ surpassed hers so obviously it was slightly embarrassing. Tauriel was there, as well, on a rare day off; and she and Deorynn spent a few hours sparring with their daggers. The competition was fierce but friendly, and their laughs and shouts of challenge mingled with Legolas' over the grounds.

When they finished, the women refreshed themselves in the waterfalls just outside the baths. Deorynn splashed water on her red, hot face, slightly jealous that Tauriel seemed to have barely broken a sweat, even after two hours' hard fighting. The elf was regarding her with amusement.

"What?" she asked.

Tauriel smiled. "I was just thinking that there is more to you than immediately meets the eye, and wondering how many people have ever seen it."

Deorynn dried her face and stood, holding out a hand to the she-elf, who took it more out of a courtesy than a need for assistance rising. "Not many people, really; basically the only ones besides you are sitting in the dungeons right now."

"And one standing right here," Legolas announced, walking over to join them with a grin.

Deorynn returned his smile. "Very well then, your Highness. The two of you, and the f—thirteen of them."

"How did you actually meet them?" Tauriel asked.

Deorynn looked nervous for a moment, but Legolas laughed. "We already know what Oakenshield's real mission is, Lady Miriel. No need to fear telling us something you shouldn't."

"True enough," she conceded. "Well, I had actually been captured by a party of orcs near Weathertop…."

* * *

_My Kíli,_

_I do miss the sun, though I'm never wanting for light here; though I imagine you are. I know we will see the sun rise together again, and soon, I hope. Please stay strong._

_Meanwhile, I am learning so much about my Eiri powers; today it only took __**one**__ hour to gather enough power from multiple sources to heal a wound, instead of all morning. I am also spending some time with the Prince and Captain of the Guard—they are young, for elves, and we get along quite well. I think we may, under the right circumstances, have an ally in them._

Here was the strange word again_—is pronounced Roðuljós. It means "sunlight" in Orð, the language of the Eiri; which I am also learning. It seemed appropriate since you have broken the night in my own life and brought the sun to me, in all your warmth and brightness._

_Ryn_

* * *

_Ionneg_—"My son" in Sindarin


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34 **

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: *wipes forehead* Whew! Lots of action in this one, and everyone's favorite scene! Have fun, my friends!

Cheers to **summerald** for her inspiration, **Princess Quill** for pushing me along gently, and **VioletBrock** for leaving amazing reviews!

* * *

_Ryn,_

_Any luck on the plan to get us out of here? A whole week of this...I'm starting to go a little crazy. _

_The answer to your last riddle is a forest. HA. You thought you'd stumped me...get it? 'Stumped' me? Mahal, now I'm making bad puns..._

_Here is your riddle: _

_My life can be measured in hours;  
I serve by being devoured.  
Thin, I am quick; fat, I am slow.  
Wind is my foe.  
What am I?_

_Today, I miss most: fresh air and the ability to see my Uncle smile._

_Until tomorrow, âzyungel,_

_Kíli_

* * *

Deorynn sighed as she folded the letter and tossed it in the fire-it wouldn't do for any of the elves to find it accidentally. Kíli was right; a whole week of this was ridiculous. She and Bilbo were no closer now to finding them a way out than they'd been that first night she wrote him; though they knew if anything was to happen, it was going to have to be the next day, over Meleth Nuin Giliath-the Feast of Starlight. Most of the elves would be distracted, but Thranduil wasn't stupid; the guards would of course still be on duty, so she had no idea how that would help them at all. She flopped back onto her pillow, and Bilbo looked up from his spot by the fire.

"What's wrong, Ryn?"

"I don't know what we're going to do tomorrow. Despite all our efforts, we still only know of one way in and out of this place. Tauriel and Legolas, while sympathetic to me wanting to see everyone, are highly diligent, and I seriously doubt they'd flat out _help_ us get them away."

Bilbo shifted. "Something will come up. The only thing that worries me is that something will come up and I won't be able to get back to tell you about it."

"Don't." Ryn looked at him fiercely. "If you have a shot to get them out but can't get to me; take it. I'll figure my own way out if necessary."

He nodded. He'd seen her with these elves; he didn't doubt she could make her own way. She was right; it was the dwarves that needed him most at the moment. His magic ring was more precious than ever right now. "Very well. Though Kíli and Fíli will never forgive me."

Ryn laughed a little. "They'll get over it when I show up and smack them over the head for being rude to you. Now, help me with this, will you?"

She handed him the tome-he had been essentially learning Orð along with her, since she often spoke what she knew of it to him in order to practice. Today was a healing spell he'd never heard the likes of before. She murmured it quietly, a thrill passing through the air around him as he checked her pronunciation against the words on the page:

_"Fear not the dark, it cannot abide_

_Where silver light is hid inside_

_The black despair, so deep and strong_

_In the face of joy, will not last long."_

He shook his head. "It's 'meon_eth'_, my friend, not 'meon_ith'_. You're making the word 'light' into the word 'answer'."

"Gah. You're right. Okay, again."

* * *

The next day was full of bustle and excitement. The air was thick with it, more than Ryn thought she'd ever see in the presence of elves, who were normally so stoic and standoffish. Galaron smiled when he saw her.

"I'm sorry, Miriel, I don't think I'll have time to teach you much today; the Feast has me quite busy for the next several hours."

She laughed. "Of course; do you require assistance?" Galaron snorted. "No, not at all. There are too many ellon around here as is; go take a day off, young one. Enjoy yourself."

Deorynn bowed and ran off. "Thank you!"

She spent a few hours in the library, then wandered out to the gardens. Much of her training had taken place here over the last seven days, but she had never really explored them fully. They were lovely indeed; flowers, trees, and shrubs of all kinds in neat rows and lovely displays. She sauntered through the verdant plants, falling into her Sight for no other reason than to enjoy the emerald sparks that surrounded each leaf and flower. Accessing her magic had become easy enough that it required very little concentration to manage at this point. Healing with it took more time and effort, but she was getting better every day. A smile spread over her face as she wandered into a deep, tangled part of the garden, slightly less tended than the rest.

It quickly became obvious why.

An old stone door, partially obscured by wild vines with little pink blossoms, was set in the wall. It looked heavy, but when she pulled on the built-in ridge, it moved easily. She gasped when she opened it.

The door was set in the side of the wall surrounding the city. It opened above a forest river that murmured as it flowed past Thranduil's realm; there was a narrow path leading down to the ground, where two guards stood talking. The side of the door facing out toward the forest was rough stone, unhewn, which Ryn realized meant it would be near-invisible from the outside.

Quietly, she shut the door, a thrill racing up her spine.

She had found her way out.

* * *

Bilbo stood in Thranduil's cellars, slightly shocked that he had found his way here, but even more surprised at the idea that was niggling in his brain as he stood listening to the Elf-Guards' discussion.

"These empty barrels should have been sent to Esgaroth hours ago! The Bargeman will be waiting for them," one stated.

The other grinned, taking a long drink from a glass carafe. "Say what you like about our ill-tempered king; he has _excellent_ taste in wine!" He set the carafe down on the Guardsman's desk. "Come Elrost, try it!"

The Guard held up his ring of keys, shaking his head. "I have the dwarves in my charge."

The first elf laughed and took the ring, hanging it carelessly on a hook. "They are locked up. Where can they go?"

Bilbo grinned.

_Where, indeed?_

He waited in the shadows, silently, listening as the guards grew loud and merry under the influence of Thranduil's wine. They sang and laughed and talked for hours, until Bilbo began to wonder if his plan would work after all.

Just as he started to consider giving up, going back to Ryn to see what else could be done, one of the elves put his head down on the desk and began snoring. The other two snickered and took even deeper draughts of their wine.

It was only minutes before both of them were lolled over the table, breathing softly and steadily. Bilbo ran over to the wall and nicked the keys quickly, then turned tail and ran before he could convince himself otherwise.

The dwarves were talking morosely amongst themselves, feeling rather depressed, as he entered the dungeons. He was pleased to see the guard outside the dungeon had been reduced to one elf; one elf who was also rather tipsy and not paying the slightest attention to anything, but instead closing his eyes and singing to himself in their strange, flowery language. Bilbo made his way to Thorin's cell.

"We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?" Ori groused.

Bilbo slipped off the ring. "Not stuck in here, you're not." He grinned and shook the keys.

"Bilbo!" someone cried, and the other dwarves immediately took up the call, shouting his name and laughing.

"Shh!" Bilbo hissed. "There are guards nearby!"

He unlocked each door quickly, the dwarves scurrying out. Kíli tapped on the bars of his cell impatiently as Bilbo freed him. "Where is she?" he whispered to the hobbit.

"Not far away," was all Bilbo would say.

He sincerely hoped the girl had found a way out. Kíli really _would_ strangle him if she was left behind…

Finally, he had them all freed and standing in a line. There were hugs and slaps on the back and shoulder pats while they sorted themselves and enjoyed their newfound freedom, until Bilbo hissed at them to follow him. Getting them to the cellars required no small amount of patience and sneaking, but in the end they managed it, Bilbo leading them into the darker room below. The elves still snored at the table.

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief as he led the captives straight past the guards and over to the large wine barrels awaiting transport to Esgaroth.

Until Kíli realized what was happening and nearly lost his temper with the hobbit. "I can't believe it," he spat. "We're in the cellars!"

Bofur was next. "You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!"

_Confounded dwarves!_

"I know what I'm doing," Bilbo growled, to which Bofur responded with a harsh 'shhhh!'

They walked cautiously further in, where the empty barrels were stacked, while Bilbo whispered, "Everyone, climb into the barrels, quickly now!"

"Are you mad?" Dwalin whispered angrily. "They'll find us!"

"No! No, they won't, I promise you; you must _trust_ me!"

When they still refused, milling about and muttering to each other, Bilbo turned appealing eyes to Thorin; who commanded without hesitation, "Do as he says!"

There was a lot of grunting and fussing as the dwarves arranged themselves in their barrels grumpily. Bilbo kept watch, noting that the guards slept on before counting the barrels and dwarves just to be sure no one was left behind. When they finished, Bofur stuck his head out.

"What do we do now?"

Bilbo put his hand on a tall lever in the floor.

"Hold your breath."

If any of his friends had any more questions or objections, Bilbo never heard them, as he pulled the lever hard; the floor beneath the barrels tilted, opening as they rolled into a sheer drop to the river below.

Bilbo watched with growing excitement as his plan worked, all the barrels leaving Thranduil's cellars—and with them, his prisoners. So thrilled was he at his success, that it took him a moment after the floor levelled out again to realize he had forgotten one very important element of his escape plan:

Himself.

The guards were snorting, wakened by all the noise, and he was standing there frozen, where the barrels had been moments ago.

_Blast. Now what?_

Bilbo stomped on the wood floor uselessly, jumping up and down as quietly as he could to try to get it to open up. Shouts came from above his head, and he knew the prisoners' absence had been discovered. The elves in the cellar heard too, cursing in quiet Sindarin as they tried to wake up fully. Bilbo backed up slowly as they opened their eyes, blinking blearily and raising their heads…

Before the floor dropped out beneath him and he, too, landed in the cold river below.

* * *

Ryn was with Tauriel when the alarm came. They sat, talking amiably in the training grounds, seeking respite from the bustle of the Halls, laughing as Ryn told her some of the most amusing stories from traveling with the dwarves. She found the young she-elf to be quite curious about a good many things, including the short gruff men she was charged with in the dungeons. Apparently, Kíli and she had had a lovely conversation the night before about the merits of starlight versus moonlight or sunlight. It made Ryn smile—she was fairly convinced at this point that Kíli could charm his way out of Mordor if he put his mind to it.

"And then he said he'd seen a firemoon—"

"_Nikerym!"_ came the shout, followed by a breathless young male elf carrying a bare sword. Tauriel stood instantly, and they conversed in quick Sindarin. Deorynn had managed to pick up a few words of the language over the last week, as had Bilbo, so she managed to recognize three words: "dwarves," "orcs," and "hurry."

"_Ego! Noro!_" Tauriel commanded. _"Amin naa tulien a' i'til!"_

She turned back to Deorynn, who asked wide-eyed, "What is happening, _mellon nin_?"

Tauriel gathered her weapons. "Orcs. At the gate. Never you mind, just stay here; I'll tell you all about it at dinner." With a smile, she was gone.

Ryn resisted the urge to grit her teeth. _As if_. The word '_naugrim_' had been in that hasty report, and she was willing to bet Bilbo had made his move.

_Well then. I suppose that means it's time to make mine, as well._

She dashed to her room—no time to waste—and grabbed her already-full leather pack. She'd seen to it that it was well-stocked with dried meat, fruit, and new medicines over the last week. Barely stopping, she placed the note on her pillow and turned and ran.

She dashed through the halls toward the gardens, sticking to the shadows and avoiding contact wherever possible—she didn't want to be stopped—and made it all the way to the door she'd found earlier that day. The river roared in her ears, and she gasped at what she saw below her.

Orcs swarmed over the riverbanks, cutting down elf guards at every turn. There were barrels in the water—barrels that had dwarf torsos emerging from them, and Ryn may have giggled under different circumstances at the sight of them.

Any amusement she felt was smothered by fear, though, as she jumped down from the wall and saw Kíli making for the lever that would open the gate which currently held the barrels back from floating down the river. A giant orc near her growled, drawing a cruel-looking bow and taking aim. Ryn's heart stopped.

_Kíli._

She roared and ran for the larger Orc, barreling into him _just_ as he let his arrow fly. Ryn landed on top of him and kept rolling, her momentum carrying her several feet away and dashing her against a tree trunk roughly. She jumped up, wincing, and faced the Orc with her daggers drawn, a cry of rage escaping as she engaged him. He batted aside her attacks easily, lifting her by the neck with one hand and throwing her into the air like a rag doll. She landed hard on one ankle, crying out as it twisted beneath her, but drew power from the nearby tree; it wasn't enough to heal it completely—she hadn't the time—but it did lessen the damage, and therefore, the pain. The Orc was charging her, so she ducked under his arm just in time to hear Fíli's agonized shout:

"Kíli!"

She looked in time to see him pull the lever on the wall above the gate, saw the barrels begin to float down the raging river, saw him scoot toward the edge, apparently aiming to drop into his barrel from the wall…

Saw the long, black arrow protruding from his thigh.

The Orc behind her roared in fury and ran past, swiping for her as he went; but she jumped out of his way and he didn't stop to finish her. He shouted something cruel-sounding in Black Speech, and the orcs began following the barrels.

Ryn caught sight of Tauriel and Legolas fighting fit—honestly, she'd never seen such grace in a battle before, and it amazed her—and raced toward them. One of her throwing knives buried itself in an orc skull just before the nasty creature stabbed Tauriel in the back, and the elf captain turned with a shout to see her enemy defeated already.

"_Hím si, mellon_!" Deorynn shouted as she ran past, retrieving her knife with a small squelch and dashing onward, following the barrels.

She heard Tauriel shout her name but didn't stop. She couldn't.

She _wouldn't._ She wasn't going back to Thranduil's Realm, not yet.

The dwarves amazed her by fighting as a unit, even from their barrels. Anytime an orc fell into the river, he would be relieved of his weapon one way or another, with the result that many of the dwarves had axes and crude swords with which to fight any orcs that got too near. They shared amongst each other, so that anyone who needed a weapon had one at any given time.

Ryn would've stared, if she'd had the time. She herself was focused on the archers, the bearers of ranged weapons that her dwarves had no defense against. Her knives and arrows served her well, her daggers helping when any of the monsters got the idea that _she_ should be eliminated.

Legolas and Tauriel were graceful blurs of motion, almost like dancers. Their light weight allowed them to do things she and the dwarves would find impossible; though Legolas standing on Dwalin and Dori's heads at one point doubtless caused more damage to their egos than their hard skulls. However, it was for but a moment, and the Prince of Mirkwood was off again, whirling and slicing at orcs before they got near enough to even touch him.

Ryn gasped as one ran up behind him while he was focused on the enemy in front of him. She wanted to shout, to shoot the monster behind him; but her daggers were busy with the one in front of _her_, grappling and leering at her as it shoved her to the ground roughly.

"She-dwarf," it jeered in rough Westron, reaching for her with grimy fingers. She screamed her rage and kicked the creature squarely in the groin before rolling to her feet and beheading it, moving along before any of the others could get hold of her. She looked—evidently Legolas had somehow managed to defeat both orcs; he was still running beside her on the opposite bank, and a flash of red just to his left told her Tauriel was nearby, too.

She knew the moment they left Thranduil's realm; Legolas and Tauriel fell behind, though both the elf prince and the captain kept shooting arrows at any orc that got too close to her. She paused only for a moment, and looked at the Prince.

He knew.

He knew she was leaving, and was making no move to stop her. _She_ knew what that meant, how it would affect his already-strained relationship with his father; and she hoped no more ill would come of it than strictly needed to.

_Oh Legolas._

But her moment was up. The orcs were surrounding her, and she was no longer safe on the bank. She had but one choice.

She ran and jumped. Her legs kicked in midair and she splashed into the river just next to Ori's barrel. The water closed over her head, filling her ears and cushioning her slightly as she bashed into the side of it.

_Overshot that a bit, Ryn._

She surfaced with a gasp, and hands grabbed her as she tried to get her bearings. Tauriel stood on a rocky ledge on the bank near Legolas, watching her go with something that looked akin to sorrow in her gaze.

_Forgive me, Tauriel._

"Easy there, lass."

"You've got this, hold onto Ori's barrel, just there."

"Glad to see you, Ryn."

She turned about to find Fíli smiling at her from his barrel nearby. She smiled back, soggy though she was, and hung on hard as the barrels raced down the river. Her gaze flitted to Kíli, and she felt a jolt of fear—he was in pain and covering it up.

"Ori, I'll be back."

She let go of his barrel and maneuvered over to Kíli's. His eyes met hers and he forced a small smile. She glared at him.

"Don't you even try to cover up that injury, Kíli. I see how pale you are. How bad is it?"

He grimaced. "Arrow. My lower thigh."

"Is the head still inside your leg?"

"Yes."

"We need to get it out."

He took a shuddering breath. "I know."

She shifted her weight, reaching down inside the barrel, and Kíli took her hand, guiding it to the wound. Just before reaching it, he squeezed her fingers tenderly; she responded by stroking his palm with her thumb.

He took a deep breath and brought her hand to the broken shaft that protruded from his thigh with a hiss of agony. She felt around the wound with gentle fingers, determining how to pull it out. When she was ready, she whispered to Kíli,

"Hold onto my shoulder."

He clutched her shoulder in a vice grip, shuddering and crying out when she yanked the pointed head out of his leg.

"Shhh, I got it. You're okay, it's over."

He nodded, still gripping her shoulder and grimacing, breathing hard to dissipate the pain. Deorynn dipped the head below the water to clean it a bit, and then held it out to Kíli. "Do you want this?"

He shook his head, his grip on her lessening just a little bit. She squeezed his hand as she let the arrowhead sink to the bottom of the river. _Good riddance._ Grinning at him, she murmured, "A candle."

He looked confused. "What?"

"Your riddle, last night. The answer is a candle."

Kíli stared at her for just a moment, before a slow smile spread over his face, and he gave a hoarse laugh. "You're right, very good."

Fíli looked at them like they were crazy, but Ryn just smirked; then raised her voice and shouted over the din of the river, "Is anyone else hurt?"

Negative responses reached her from everyone else, so she paddled along beside Kíli as the river swept them away, leaving the orcs behind, though not their harsh shouts and guttural voices.

* * *

_Nikerym_—"Captain"

_Ego! Noro!_—"Run! Hurry!"

_Amin naa tulien a' i'til!—_"I am coming!"

_Naugrim_—Sindarin word for dwarves

_Hím si, mellon_—"I'm here, my friend!"


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: Laketown! I had to split it into two chapters because it was just too…big. :P Enjoy! Oh, warnings: Moody wounded Kíli, annoyed Fíli, and rude Dwalin. And Thorin. Well…most everybody is rude in this chapter.

* * *

Eventually, the current slowed considerably, the barrel-riders having to use their hands (or sticks or weapons) to keep moving forward. Ryn held on to Kíli's barrel still, kicking with her feet and pulling him along.

It was telling of his physical state that he let her.

"Is there anything behind us?" Thorin shouted to the back.

Balin answered. "Not that I can see!" Bofur looked around, shouting eagerly, "I think we've lost the orcs!"

"Not for long; we've also lost the current," Thorin responded. "Make for the shore!"

Ryn paddled hard as she pulled Kíli about. He seemed to come more to himself, then, and grabbed her wrist gently. "No, I can do it," he said quietly, trying to pull her loose.

She shook her head. "Kíli, we're nearly to shore. Don't make me pull Healer rank on you now. Stay still."

He quieted then, if only to avoid making a scene, and her feet hit the muddy bottom of the river moments later. She heaved the barrel a little further, then left Kíli to his own devices as she stumbled ashore, breathing hard and falling to her knees almost immediately; her legs were numb from the cold water and weak from adrenaline and exhaustion. She gathered herself a moment later, though, to help pull Balin out of his barrel, smiling tightly at him.

"Thank you, lass," he gripped her arms. "Well done back there."

She hugged him. "Thanks, Balin. I missed you all."

"We missed you as well." That was Dwalin, and she threw her arms around him too and squeezed. She let him go quickly, though, when she heard Kíli cry out in pain. "Oh no," she murmured. She ran to where Fíli was helping his brother stand.

Tossing his other arm over her shoulder, she helped him to a rock to sit. Gentle fingers parted his leggings over the arrow wound while the girl fell into her Sight, almost without thinking.

He fussed at her petulantly, "I'm fine, Ryn, just leave it."

Kíli's aura was...wrong. She felt a punch of alarm; his pearlescent silver had darkened, especially around the arrow wound. She didn't understand; she couldn't recall Galaron teaching her anything about someone's aura changing color like that. When a person was weakened or sick, their aura dimmed, vanishing completely when they died; but to have one _darken_ in color? She racked her brain. Thorin and Fíli were arguing, something about moving on quickly due to the orcs, but she could barely focus on them, so perplexed was she at what she was seeing.

_What is that? Infection, maybe?_

"You have two minutes," Thorin was commanding, and she nearly snapped at him; Kíli's leg needed real attention, not a two-minute patch up! Sighing, she gathered her magic and pressed firmly on the wound, transferring small amounts of energy from the nearby trees into his leg.

Kíli _screamed. _Fíli stuffed his sleeve into his brother's mouth to muffle it, and Ryn gasped.

_What?!_

Thorin turned, his face stormy. "Quiet! You'll attract the attention of every orc within five miles!"

_Something is wrong, something is wrong..._

"Uncle, he's hurt, can't you see?"

_It shouldn't hurt him like that..._

"I can see, Fíli, but we're all going to be hurt very soon if that girl doesn't stop making him scream!"

_Why isn't it working?_

"She's helping him!"

"Hardly. It's hurting him worse."

"Uncle, she knows what she's-"

"Enough!" Ryn said harshly. "Something's not right, the magic isn't working. I'll figure it out later; right now we need to get it wrapped to stop the bleeding. Fíli, help me bind it."

She met his eyes as she medicated and bound the wound, whispering, "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong. But I _will_ fix it, I promise you." He tried to force a smile for her sake, didn't quite succeed. "I'll be fine."

She wasn't convinced, but didn't have time to comment on it as the twang of a bow sounded behind them and Dwalin grunted at the arrow stuck in the makeshift club he held. Everyone-Kíli included, with a rock in his fist-stood and whirled to face the intruder.

An arrow appeared out of nowhere and knocked the stone right out of Kíli's hand. Ryn gasped, took a step in front of him, fighting a wave of anger at the stranger silhouetted against the bright sunlight. In inch either direction, and that arrow would've hit Kíli, and she'd had _quite_ enough of arrow wounds for today. Kíli grabbed her arm, pulling her back as the stranger growled.

"Do it again, and you're dead."

Kíli, Fíli, and Ryn all froze; and Balin stepped forward carefully, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Excuse me, but um…you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken." He stopped as the stranger turned his bow on the old dwarf, patting the air ever so gently. When the man—for Ryn could see now it was a man—did not shoot, Balin continued. "That barge over there…it wouldn't be for hire, by any chance?"

* * *

Kíli was having serious trouble concentrating. His entire leg was throbbing-the pain had been manageable until Ryn tried to heal it. Either the elves had done a lousy job teaching her, or Eiri healing was awful; because he had never felt such agony in all his (admittedly short) life. Heat had blazed out from the wound, burning in his veins, seizing every muscle in the vicinity of his thigh, pain lancing like knives outward from the wound into every nerve ending in his body. He hadn't even realized he'd been screaming, it'd been so bad.

_Blasted healing magic._

Fíli was standing in front of him, letting Kíli lean on him surreptitiously, for which he was grateful.

"Hurts, Fee," he murmured, and Fíli's hand tightened on his shoulder.

Ryn was hovering nearby, as Balin and his Uncle negotiated with the bargeman for passage to Laketown. Kíli wasn't sure why it was such an issue for the Man-the deal was simple enough, they'd give him money and he'd let them ride in his boat-but apparently there was something about a Master and the _shirumund_ elf-king of that horrific forest they'd just escaped.

He wasn't really listening.

He couldn't. He was trying, but the agonizing burning knives in his leg kept tearing up his insides, and it was difficult to even breathe, much less focus on negotiations and haggling.

Eventually, it seemed, they reached an agreement; and Fíli was helping him into the barge, Ryn on his other side with her hand on Bilbo's shoulder. She was watching him intently, ready to jump to his aid should he need it. His gaze slid to his uncle, who was also watching with an odd expression on his face; there was concern there, certainly, but also something else that Kíli didn't like at all, guarded and almost calculating.

That, more than anything, forced him onward and made him shrug his brother's assistance off. He refused to let anyone else in the Company, especially his King, see how badly he was hurting. He couldn't afford to show weakness, not here, not when they were so close to their destination.

He could do this.

Ryn sat beside him in the boat, a bit closer than was strictly proper, and reached for his hand; the action hidden by their propped up legs and the thickening mist. He started at the touch of her fingers, unaccountably annoyed, and pulled back, shifting away from her and crossing his arms over his chest.

He didn't need her comfort or anyone else's, and he certainly didn't want her to touch him, not after what had just happened on the river shore.

He shuddered as another wave of pain swept over him.

* * *

Fíli frowned at the exchange he'd just witnessed between his brother and Ryn. He saw her blink in surprise and shrink away from Kíli ever so slightly, turning from him and looking out over the water as though nothing had happened. Fíli felt a zing of anger up his spine.

_Kíli, you dolt, what is wrong with you?_

Ryn had come a long way since they had met her, but she was still a bit skittish about physical contact; so to rebuff her when she initiated a touch was nearly unforgivable, in Fíli's opinion. And besides, Kíli had just spent over a week pining for her touch in that stupid cell, and he had clearly missed her. Fíli had expected to have to run interference for those two, maybe physically separate them to keep them from tackling one another and making their feelings entirely too plain to everyone when they finally got a moment to breathe.

He had NOT expected Kíli to be cold and distant and push her away.

What was even odder was that Kíli was usually _more_ inclined to touch when he was hurt or ill. He craved physical contact under the best of circumstances; he _needed_ it when he was upset or in pain.

This was not like him at all, and it worried Fíli.

His troubled thoughts were reflected in the misty gloom around them. Huge shapes materialized out of the fog, garnering a "Watch out!" from Bofur, though the bargeman maneuvered around the obstacles skillfully. Thorin wasn't impressed.

"What are you trying to do, drown us?" he growled. Fili thought privately that if the bargeman wanted to kill them, there were less inconvenient ways to do it than destroying his own boat.

"I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf," the Man replied. "If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here."

Fili had known Mister Dwalin long enough to know his limits; and it was obvious to him the older dwarf was reaching the edge of his patience when he growled, "Oh, I've about had enough of this, we ought to just throw the Man overboard and take the boat."

_Well. That would be dishonorable._

"Ohhhh…." Bilbo made a noise of frustration. "Bard. His name is Bard."

"And how would you know that?"

Bilbo smirked a little. "Well. I asked him."

Dwalin was unimpressed. "I don't like him."

"We don't have to like him, we simply have to pay him," Balin stated. "Come on, lads, turn out your pockets."

Fíli and Kíli both did, and Fíli was surprised when Ryn contributed as well. Balin looked as though he might protest, but she shook her head and said, "No, Master Dwarf. I am part of this Company, contract or no. I want to help."

Fíli smiled at her widely, and even Kíli gave her a pat on the back, despite his lousy mood. She turned, and they regarded each other for a moment, Ryn clearly trying to figure him out, and he just shrugged. Fíli wanted to bang his head on the railing in frustration. This was _not_ like his brother at all.

His thoughts were interrupted by Balin's quiet assertion that they were ten coins short of the payment to the bargeman. Thorin grunted, "Gloin, come on. Pay up."

Gloin shook his head. "Don't look to me. I've been bled dry by this quest, and with what to show for it?..."

But no one was listening as the dwarf continued grumbling. Fíli gripped his brother's arm as he stood slowly, staring as one in a trance. Kíli almost shook him off, but caught what he was looking at and rose too, his breath escaping in a huff of awe.

Just barely visible through the thick fog was the silhouette of a lone peak, rising rugged and imposing against the sun barely touching its summit-Fíli vaguely realized that meant it was late afternoon. Even Gloin shut up and stood a minute later, silent and awed as the rest of them. After a moment, he shoved a leather coin purse at Balin and murmured, "Take it. Take it all."

The bargeman-Bard, he'd said his name was-interrupted them. "The money, give it to me quick."

Thorin growled. "You'll get your money when we get our weapons, and not before."

"If you value your freedom," Bard stated roughly. "You'll do as I say. There are guards ahead."

Fíli looked at his uncle, wondering what his response to this near-threat would be. Thorin warred with himself for only a moment, then growled and ordered Balin to turn over the coins.

"Thank you," Bard said. "Now, get back into the barrels."

Fíli expected some token resistance from his uncle, but the only trouble came from Dwalin, who growled menacingly but did as Thorin did. Fíli sighed and held out his hand to Kíli; who insisted on standing up by himself and limped to his barrel. Fíli resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_Honestly, Kee._

He waited until Kíli was safely tucked into his barrel, and Ryn too, for whom he spared a small smile that she tried to return, before climbing in and settling himself in the barrel. It was cramped and smelled heavily of wine and dirty dwarf; Fíli wrinkled his nose, seeing no reason to hold back his displeasure if no one was around to see him make un-princely faces.

But it was nothing next to how uncomfortable he came about twenty minutes later.

Bard had stopped them just outside the town gates, where the fishermen apparently worked, and had the barrels filled with fish. Fíli suspected it was necessary, and logically it made a kind of sense, if they were trying to get into Laketown secretly; but all the logic in the world did not help him in that moment when the fish finally surrounded him, stifling the air he breathed and making him fight the urge to burst out of his barrel and run screaming.

The barge was stopped at the Tall Gate (or so Bard called it), and papers were run. Much of the conversation was muffled to Fíli's ears, but he heard something about 'consignment of empty barrels' and 'people need to eat'...after a few more minutes, someone started manhandling his barrel, tipping it. Fíli tensed, hearing some of the topmost fish hit the water and resisting the impulse to pop out of his barrel fighting.

"...people hear...good fish back into the lake?...problem then?" he heard Bard growl.

A beat, and then a loud, "Stop!" and his barrel was righted and shoved back into place. Fíli barely dared to breathe a sigh of relief, though he didn't really relax until he felt the barge moving again.

Several minutes later, Bard knocked on his barrel and told him he could get out now, and the breath of air he gasped the moment he emerged was complete and utter ecstasy.

If he never saw another fish in his life, it'd be too soon, he reflected as he helped Ryn from her barrel after Kíli pushed him off again.

She squeezed his arm. "Fíli?" she whispered. "What's wrong with him?"

Fíli shook his head. "I honestly have no idea. He's not normally like this." Ryn looked at him, and her face betrayed her.

She knew more than she was saying.

"Ryn?"

Her green eyes held his, pale in the dim light.

"You're not telling me something."

She fought with herself for a moment, before murmuring, as they stepped off the barge onto a rickety dock, "His aura is changing. It's...darker."

A stone dropped into Fíli's stomach at the sound of that. "Darker?"

Ryn nodded seriously. "I don't know what it means, but it's frightening me."

Fíli squeezed her shoulder. She wasn't the only one.

But the next moment, they were hurrying along the docks, trying to keep out of sight as much as possible. When a dark-haired boy jumped out at Bard, Fíli's hand instinctively strayed to his hip, and he felt the loss of his blade keenly.

"Da!" the boy hissed. "Our house! It's being watched!"

Bard looked back at the dwarves uncomfortably, as if trying to figure out what to do.

* * *

Bilbo had done a lot of things on this quest that he thought he'd never do. He'd talked with elves, run from wargs, killed orcs, befriended a girl who had no family. He had won a game of riddles with a creature he'd never heard of, burgled (_found_, he preferred to think of it) a magic ring, battled giant spiders (and won!), and hidden in the halls of the Woodland Realm for a week without being detected. He had broken his friends out of a dungeon and ridden a barrel down a river.

But he had to admit, of all the things he had done on this quest, climbing out of someone's toilet was definitely the oddest.

And one of the most disgusting.

"Da?" came a decidedly female voice. "Why are there dwarves climbing out of our toilet?"

A tiny one piped up, "Will they bring us luck?"

Bilbo nearly laughed as he looked around, thinking that this lot was many things, but 'good luck' probably wasn't one of them. Still, he gave the little girl a smile as she ushered them inside and brought out some blankets, setting them all by the fire to dry and warm up.

She was a sweet little thing, young and wide-eyed. She said her name was Tilda and gave Bilbo a clumsy but well-intentioned curtsey, which he returned with a bow and a sneeze. She ran off then, to get him another blanket, and he smiled to watch her go.

Bard's other two children were older; Bain, the boy, was not quite adolescent (Bilbo wasn't very familiar with how humans aged, so it was hard to tell), quick-witted and serious, but with a boyish curiosity that Bilbo hoped life never stamped out of him. The eldest daughter had honey-colored hair and was completely engrossed in a conversation with a shivering Deorynn. He supposed they were comparatively similar in age, in their respective races, and Sigrid obviously was surprised to find a female amongst the Company. Bilbo walked to them, curious at how Ryn would handle it.

"Oh no, it's nothing like that!" she was saying, pink-cheeked and fighting a laugh. "No, when I say 'not strictly proper', I mean that I..." she leaned in as if sharing a great secret, and both Sigrid and little Tilda (who'd gotten distracted on the way to get his blanket) leaned in too. "...I'm a warrior."

Sigrid's eyes got round, but Tilda squeaked. "A lady warrior? Sig, do you hear that?" The elder girl's eyes flicked to her sister, and she nodded mutely. Tilda chattered on, "By the Valar, an actual lady warrior! I want to be a warrior too, when I grow up, but Da and Bain said I can't because it's dangerous, and it's not lady's work and I have to stay home and cook and clean and sew, but I think I can do all that and still fight, don't you? Surely you can teach me? Oh, would you please?"

"Tilda!" Sigrid gasped. "Hold your tongue!"

Deorynn laughed, and Bilbo fought a chuckle of his own. "It's quite all right, Miss Sigrid." She bent over and placed a hand on the little girls' cheek. "Now Tilda, you listen well to me." The girl sat up a bit straighter. "You must do what your heart tells you to do, sweetling. But do not rush through your childhood, nor be too quick to give up your innocence. It is worth more than you know. In addition, you must always remember that your family loves you, and that they are a gift; a blessing from the Valar, and you must do everything you can to preserve _and_ treasure them. Do you understand, little one?"

Tilda nodded fiercely.

"Good girl."


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

* * *

Deorynn wandered over to Thorin, who was looking out the window at something that held his attention tightly. He murmured something to himself before she reached him, but looked over when he heard her coming.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bilbo said, appearing out of nowhere with a blanket and two hot cups of tea. He handed one to Thorin, who took it gratefully.

"He has," Balin joined them. "The last time we saw a dwarfish wind lance, the city was on fire." He wove the tale of Girion, Lord of Dale, then; and Deorynn was as fascinated by it as she'd always been. It had been a story her mother told her as a young lassie, sitting at her feet in front of a cozy fire back before things went all wrong for her. The wind lance, the black arrows, Lord Girion's desperate shots, the fire and wind and destruction…

"Had the aim of Men been true that day," Thorin said softly, more grief in his voice than actual blame, despite his words, "much would've been different."

A footstep. Bard had joined them. "You speak as if you were there."

Thorin paused. "All dwarves know the tale."

Bain had heard the tale as well, it seemed, and was quick to come to the defense of his race. "Then you would know Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under its left wing. One more shot and he would've killed the Beast."

Dwalin chuckled behind him. "That's a fairy story, lad; nothing more." Bain looked up at his father, as if waiting for him to challenge the dwarf's words, but Thorin stepped forward, having obviously had enough of story time.

"You took our money," he stated flatly. "Where are the weapons?"

Bard disappeared for a few minutes, during which time Deorynn fell into her Sight to check on Kíli. His color was still all wrong, even darker than before; the area over the arrow wound having darkened nearly to black now. She really wished she knew what that meant, because whatever it was, she had a nasty feeling it was very bad and would have consequences she didn't wish to consider.

Sigrid passed in front of her view, and she started a little; realizing she had never seen the aura of a Human before. Scarlet tendrils of light surrounded the young woman, pulsing with the beat of her heart. All of Bard's children were awash in the same light, which accounted for the crimson in her own pearly-silver aura.

_Fascinating_.

She shook herself when Bard returned and placed a wrapped parcel on the kitchen table. He opened it to reveal an assortment of odd tools and utensils. She stepped closer, curious, as sounds of disbelief and dismay issued from some of the dwarves.

Thorin grabbed a contraption from the top of the pile that looked like a long staff with three large fishhooks attached to the end. He eyed it disdainfully. "What is this?"

"Pike hook," Bard stated gruffly, all too aware of the general consensus among the dwarves about his offering. "Made from an old harpoon."

Ryn's heart sank as the dwarves asked about a couple of the tools before rejecting them outright. Thorin too, to her disappointment, and she walked over to tell him so.

"You won't find better outside the city armory!" Bard was protesting. "All iron forged weapons are held there under lock and key."

The dwarves continued to murmur amongst themselves, but Ryn heard Balin hiss, "Thorin! Why don't we just take what's offered and go? I've made do with less, and so have you."

Thorin's face was stony, but one look at Bard's face told Ryn that Balin had just slipped up. He was staring at Thorin as if he was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle. She realized with a jolt they might be in trouble; Bard clearly recognized his name.

_Oh, Mahal._

Balin glanced around uncomfortably. "I say we leave now."

"You're not going anywhere," Bard stated, wrapping his makeshift weapons in the leather again. Fear punched Ryn in the gut.

"What did you say?" Dwalin bristled.

"There are spies watching this house, and probably every dock and wharf in the town," Bard answered roughly. "You must wait til nightfall."

There was general complaint and grumbling about that, though even Thorin saw the wisdom in the Man's words and took a seat quietly. Ryn moved to the kitchen to help Sigrid-feeding thirteen dwarves and a hobbit was no laughing matter-and noticed Kíli sitting down gingerly, a grimace twisting his handsome features when he though no one was looking. Ryn winced in sympathy.

Perhaps waiting til nightfall was a good idea, for more than one reason.

* * *

Thorin squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. This day just kept getting better. Not for the first time, he wondered vaguely if this quest was even worth the trouble; but Bard opened the door as he walked out of the house; and a glimpse of the Mountain, standing rugged and proud against the sky, quickly stifled his doubts.

He was nearly home. There was no stopping now.

Kíli worried him, though. The lad was too pale and was having trouble walking now. He knew his nephew, knew how badly Kíli needed to be there when Erebor was reclaimed, knew he and Fíli had grown up dreaming of this exact moment, this quest, this goal. He _knew_, because he'd been there stoking those fires, encouraging those dreams, sometimes more than Dis appreciated. He knew what this meant to his nephews, and he hated the thought that he might have to leave Kíli behind.

But he'd much rather have the lad hate him than have the lad die on him.

But perhaps he could pull through. He'd wait and see what Kíli looked like when they left in a few hours, let him rest for a bit and see if that helped.

He really wanted his heirs-both of them-with him when the secret door was opened. Fate had always been cruel to the Sons of Durin, and he prayed to Mahal for this one boon, that his boys would be able to look again upon their home, help reclaim it, and live long and happy lives ruling it. They deserved so much better than a modest home in the Blue Mountains, taking blacksmithing work from arrogant, rude Men to eke out a living.

They were the children of Kings, for Mahal's sake. _And_ his nephews, as dear to him as if they were his own sons.

He smiled a little at the sight of Fíli taking a seat next to his brother, Kíli's head dropping to his shoulder and both of them closing their eyes. It warmed his heart like nothing else could, not even the Mountain itself.

His thoughts were interrupted by Balin and Dwalin, who came over to sit beside him, looking worried and hostile, respectively.

"Thorin, we may have a problem," Balin murmured.

"Another?"

"I think Bard recognized your name."

Thorin sucked a breath in between his teeth.

"I'm sorry!" Balin looked contrite. "I take full responsibility, and you can take whatever action you feel is necessary, but-"

Thorin shook his head. "-No."

Balin still looked concerned. "I don't think he'll let us leave, Thorin. He tore off into the town a while ago."

Dwalin growled again. "I'd like to see him try to stop us."

Thorin looked around the small house, gaze lingering to watch Bard's children. Bain was talking to Bilbo and Bofur, and he was wearing a smile-the first Thorin had seen from the boy, who seemed to be inherently cautious. Deorynn was helping Sigrid with dinner while Tilda sat on the table top, swinging her tiny legs and chattering nonstop. They seemed a good family, despite his deep-set distrust of the bargeman, and he would not see harm come to the Man or his children.

"No," he stated, levelling a serious look at Dwalin. "We'll not be using force to leave this house. We'll go before Bard returns, the moment the sun sets. We'll go quickly and quietly, raid the armory, and steal a boat. But no harm will befall this Man or his children by our hand."

Dwalin looked slightly abashed, and then nodded.

"Spread the word to everyone, but be discreet," Thorin commanded. "We depart in twenty minutes."

* * *

Kíli groaned when Fíli shook him lightly. He hadn't been asleep, but he was feeling really spectacularly awful, and opening his eyes was _hard_.

"Come on, bazhundush," Fíli teased gently. "We're going to go raid an armory."

Kíli forced himself upright and took a deep breath to calm his stomach-the pain was bad enough he was struggling not to vomit. Fíli noticed, _of course he noticed_, and opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm _fine_," Kíli growled before he could even get the words out. "Leave it, Fíli."

Fíli's mouth closed with an audible _click!,_ to Kíli's relief, and he pulled away from his brother's hand and stood on his own, shakily.

_I swear they all think I'm a child. Not that it's surprising, look at me. I can barely stay on my feet._

He rearranged his face into something much less tense.

_I can do this. I _will _do this._

He walked to the door with the others, instinctively looking for Ryn, catching sight of her talking earnestly to the bargeman's eldest daughter and giving her a small jar of something. She squeezed the girl's shoulder, then gave a hasty hug to the youngest child before running over to join them.

The boy stood before the door, looking a bit frightened, but determined.

"You can't leave," he stated matter-of-factly.

Kíli felt a wave of rage sweep over him; he was in no mood to deal with this. He growled and started forward, but both Ryn and Fíli held him back. He jerked away from both of them, but Thorin had stepped in front and was talking to the boy. He took the lad by the shoulders and moved him bodily-firmly but not cruelly-away from the door; and though the boy struggled, he quickly came to the conclusion that he'd not be able to physically stop them from leaving. He instead settled for glaring fiercely, though Kíli caught Ryn sending him an apologetic smile on her way out.

He took her by the arm, too weak to be rough, but the touch was far from affectionate. "What did you give them before we left? I saw you talking to that girl."

Ryn looked shocked, though she didn't pull away from him. "Her name is Sigrid. And I had an extra jar of comfrey salve. It's quite valuable; I thought it would be something of a repayment for the services their family rendered."

Kíli scoffed. "Services? We're running away because the bloody bargeman was going to force us to stay."

"He is an honorable man in a rough situation."

"He is a coward and a brute, like all Men."

Now Ryn did pull away, looking for a moment like she might snap at him. Then she seemed to remember they were on a covert mission and couldn't afford to be overheard, so she simply glared and replied, "Have it your way, Kíli."

Kíli put his head down and focused on walking. He was so _angry_, and it was just making the pain worse, he needed to try to calm himself. A quick glance at Fíli revealed his brother to be both worried and annoyed, which just made his heart ache.

What was _wrong_ with him?

They reached the armory in short order, and several of the dwarves formed a staircase into the upstairs window to help them bypass the guards. It required a run and quick steps up to the windowsill; Kíli managed it, though gracelessly. Once inside, he followed his uncle, struggling silently to hold the weight of several swords and axes. The pain was worse now than it had been that afternoon, and he felt the blood draining from his face.

"Are you all right?" Thorin asked.

_Honestly, if one more person asks me that..._

"I can manage," he responded automatically. Thorin nodded, and Kíli headed for the steep, narrow staircase that led to the bottom floor. "Let's just get out of here."

Gingerly, he felt for the first step, then placed his weight on his bad leg as he stepped down. Waited, took a breath.

Well. That was manageable.

He almost smiled. See? He could do this. He took another step-less careful this time, and when he felt the pain lance up his thigh, he knew it was over.

His knee collapsed, and with a great crash, the weapons tumbled down the stairs as he fell. He caught himself with the banister just in time to avoid being impaled by a falling sword, but the damage was already done.

_Mahal's bloody hell..._

Ryn appeared at the top of the stairs even as shouts of alarm sounded outside.

"Kíli!"

But she had taken only two steps toward him when a knife was pressed to her throat. Kíli's heart pounded as a hand wrapped around her waist from behind and a voice hissed, "Easy there, wench. Don't move."

_Ryn!_

* * *

The hand around her waist tightened as the Man directed her down the stairs. Kíli was being forced down as well, and Ryn reflected that it was probably a good thing-for the sake of the man whose hand was inappropriately low on her hip-that Kíli was too weak to do more than growl and look vaguely menacing.

Part of her was glad to see him so protective; he had been so angry and distant from her since the botched Healing that she had been a bit worried. Well, she'd been beside herself with worry for him because of his wound, but she'd also been slightly worried about _them_. She didn't think his affections would be stifled so easily, but every word and action toward her on his account that afternoon had been harsh and uncaring.

She suspected it was whatever was working at his aura, so she tried not to let it get to her.

Unfortunately, there were more pressing concerns as the dwarves were roughly led over the docks and balconies that passed for streets; the jeering and name calling barely bothered her (the Men were hardly creative, and she'd been called much worse than 'whore' before), but the _grabbing_ irritated her. Captives they may be, but these were not orcs, and she expected better treatment from Men.

Kíli was practically beside himself, anyway, and she was certain the stress on his system was less than helpful in his current state.

So when the next hand shot out and pulled her hair-her rear was a bit lower than this one was willing to bend-accompanied by a leer and a question about her role amongst the men of the Company, she moved. Before the Man had a chance to even respond, she had grabbed his wrist with one hand, driven her knee into his stomach (she was tempted to go for his groin, but wanted him to remember what she said; so went for less pain, more breathlessness), and executed a harsh uppercut that left him dazed and sitting on his backside on the dock.

"You will keep your hands to yourself, sir."

She worried she might start a fight accidentally, and both Kíli and Fíli looked quite ready for it, as did several of the other dwarves who'd just become aware of what was going on; but the guards just stared, and then several of them began to laugh at their comrade's defeat.

"She showed you, din't she, Cravin? The little lady's got spirit, haha!"

And no one else touched her all the way to the square; though whether that was because of her little display or because the dwarves had surrounded her in a tight circle as they walked, she wasn't sure. She supposed it didn't really matter.

A large crowd had gathered in the square, torches and shouts people talking amongst themselves, pointing. Frankly, it looked a bit too much like the time when the settlement in the Iron Hills had gathered, in the days following her mother's death, when it became known what she was, to try and decide her fate.

"_It's an offense against nature, just kill it!"_

"_No, let its blood not be on our hands! Banish it to the wild!"_

"_That would be akin to killing it, only less merciful!"_

She had only been a child at the time, and the intense, primal fear was something she remembered well.

It felt no different now.

She instinctively pressed closer to Kíli, glad that he didn't pull away, but instead wrapped his arm around her. She didn't care if Thorin, or anyone else for that matter, saw. The crowd and their shouts and torches had paralyzed her with fear, and all she wanted was to know she was safe.

And she always felt safe in Kíli's arms.

* * *

A large man with a drooping chin and thinning red hair burst out of what must've been the Town Hall, donning a velvet robe and shouting, "What is the meaning of this?!"

"We caught 'em stealing weapons, sire!"

"Ah!" the man bellowed, looking less displeased than Fíli would've expected. "Enemies of the state, eh?"

His sniveling attendant spoke up. "Just a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire!"

Dwalin growled and stepped forward, "You hold your tongue!"

Everyone's eyes shifted to him, shocked at his nerve (though Fíli reflected that it should hardly have surprised him anymore).

"You do not know to whom you speak!" Dwalin continued. "This is no common criminal! This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!"

A murmur swept through the crowd; many of them clearly remembered King Thror.

Thorin stepped forward, and Fíli stood a little straighter. His uncle was wearing his Leader Face, the one where the very air around him seemed to change, authority leaking from the very pores of his skin. The one that made his uncle the King Under the Mountain, even when there was no Mountain to go home to; the one that told their people to follow Thorin even in exile; the one that Fíli admired so greatly.

The one he was certain he'd never be able to duplicate.

The crowd's attention was fully focused on Thorin as he began to pace in front of them, speaking so they all could hear. "I remember this town in the great days of old: fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the center of all trade in the North!"

People were nodding, agreeing.

_Amazing._

"I would see those days return," Thorin continued. "I would re-light the great forges of the dwarves, and see wealth and riches flow from Erebor!"

The crowd was cheering now, and Thorin turned to face the Master. Fíli felt a stab of sheer awe; his uncle had just guaranteed the Master could neither harm nor imprison them, unless he wanted a riot. He was forced to help them, now.

Fíli breathed a sigh of relief.

"Death!" came a shout from the crowd, and Bard elbowed his way to the front. "That is what you will bring upon us! Dragon fire and ruin! If you awaken the Beast, it will destroy us all."

Thorin regarded Bard, but addressed the crowd after a moment. "You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this: if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the Mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!"

The people cheered, seeming to miss that the Dwarf King didn't refute Bard's claim that the town could be destroyed; it seemed to Fíli all they heard was 'wealth' and 'gold'. He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

But Bard hadn't missed it. "All of you, listen to me!" he shouted. "You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?" The people murmured. "And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so riveted by greed he cannot see beyond his own desire!"

Fíli tensed. That was hardly fair; he had no idea what they'd been through to get here, or what Erebor meant to his uncle, or him, or his brother. He scowled.

The bargeman wasn't done. He fixed his gaze on Thorin and spoke to him alone. "You have no right...no right to enter that Mountain."

Thorin held his gaze fearlessly. "I have the only right."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither rebuffing the other's claims, before Thorin turned again to the Master. "What say you?"

The man seemed to consider, the crowd quieted.

"I say to you," he said in a booming voice. "Welcome!"

Fíli breathed again, slapping Kíli gently on the back as they were helped to their feet and led inside where it was warm. The Master called for food to be brought, and music, and they filed into the Great Hall with much cheer.

* * *

Ryn shuffled inside, placing herself deliberately between Fíli and Kíli, and drawing Bilbo close to her side. She did not trust the Master, and the townspeople made her distinctly uncomfortable; she doubted she'd be sleeping at all tonight. Beside her, Kíli stumbled, and she caught him before drawing back, not wanting to irritate him again so soon after he decided to be nice again.

He grunted and took her hand, squeezing it quickly and letting go again.

Dinner featured fish, much to Ryn's dismay, but it was actually quite tasty and hot; and after days on the road with no dinner at all, or cold rations, she couldn't find it in her to complain. Kíli picked at his, though, barely touching any of it; which worried her more than anything had yet.

Thorin saw too, she noticed.

He looked to her then, his gaze showing more concern than he'd ever allowed her to see before, and jerked his head in a gesture that clearly said he wished to speak with her. Ryn left the table, with a whisper to Kíli that she'd be back soon. He nodded, but didn't even look up.

She joined Thorin out on the balcony, looking toward the Mountain thoughtfully. It was quite lovely, really, she thought; though it doubtless was so much more than just 'lovely' to him.

"I have dreamed of this for so many years," he said quietly. She looked at him, not daring to say anything. "I have dreamed of it, and I've taught Fíli and Kíli to dream of it. And now that we're here, nothing is as it should be."

He looked so infinitely sad; she knew instantly where this was going.

"Deorynn, I will not bring Kíli to the Mountain in his state. It is too dangerous, and we cannot match our pace to his. He is hurt and I am worried. He needs rest, healing."

She nodded, not at all disagreeing.

"I called you out here to ask you two things. First, I know your magic allows you to see things our eyes cannot. What is your opinion of Kíli's health?"

_Oh, Thorin..._

"Something is very wrong," she answered slowly. "That was no mere arrow, Thorin. The healing process should have begun already, even without my magic, and it has not. He's getting worse. And the magic _should've_ worked, unless there's something else at play here. I don't yet know what it is, but he is in no state to travel; much less battle a dragon."

Thorin sighed. "That's what I thought. Which leads to my second question: will you stay with him? I know you wanted to help with the reclamation of Erebor, but...I must entrust you with something far more precious instead. Will you stay here with Kíli and work to heal him?"

Deorynn reached out before she could stop herself, and grabbed the King's hand.

"I will."

* * *

**A/N: Quick comment for anyone who finds Kíli's behavior in the previous chapter (and this one) distasteful—remember he's been poisoned. By Morgul poison, no less—which has magic that not only causes physical pain, but changes one's spirit and causes intense despair as well. Kíli is not himself, the poor guy.**


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: *evil cackle*

* * *

That night was one of the longest of Kíli's life. He felt feverish and weak, but he could barely sleep. He tried not to toss and turn too much for fear of keeping Fíli or Ryn awake; but he was hot, then cold, then hot, then cold, sweating and shivering all night long. Worse, when he did sleep fitfully, his dreams were disjointed and disturbing, and all he could remember of them when he awoke was cold, gray hands reaching for him, squeezing the life out of him, choking him…

He half-woke in the gray light of early morning when Ryn got up from her place nearby. She stretched and blinked, then looked over at him; seeming to determine he wouldn't be joining her to watch the sun come up, she looked around surreptitiously before kissing him on the cheek and walking outside. Her lips were warm, and Kíli touched his cheek before falling back into the dozed, half-conscious state he'd spent most of the night in.

But before he was ready, Fíli was shaking him gently, and everyone was packing up their things, preparing to leave. He followed, dazed, dressing automatically in whatever Ryn or Fíli handed him, new breeches new tunic mail armor boots…

_Mahal_, his leg hurt.

Breakfast was short and hurried, which suited him fine since he couldn't stomach a thing. Fíli squeezed his arm with a look of concern, but drew back when Kíli winced; even that small touch hurt. When they got up to go, Fíli looked about ready to say something, but shut his mouth when Ryn shook her head. Kíli was grateful; he was far too tired to fight with either of them today. Remaining upright took every ounce of concentration he possessed.

The short walk to the dock was a blur to Kíli. There was only one thing that kept him moving:

_Erebor is so close. Fíli and I are going to enter right after Uncle, the home of our forefathers; our quest will end in a couple of days. Then I'll take a break and heal up._

He could see the boat now.

_I wonder if the dragon really is dead. That would make things a whole lot easier._

Fíli hopped in, just in front of him.

_They say there are piles and piles of gold, but I don't much care about that. I really can't wait to see Uncle's face as King Under the—_

"Not you."

Kíli stared at his Uncle, confused.

"We must travel at speed; you will slow us down."

Kíli blinked, not believing what he was hearing. A stone weight had settled in his stomach.

_No, Uncle, please…I was afraid of this…don't leave me…_

He tried for a smile. "What are you talking about? I'm coming with you."

"No," Thorin replied. Kíli's smile slipped.

"I am going to be there when that door is opened," he insisted. "When we look upon the halls of our fathers, Thorin—"

"—Kíli." There was pity in his uncle's eyes, and Kíli hated seeing it. Thorin put his hand on his shoulder, and Kíli forgot to even flinch, for the pain in his heart at the realization he'd be left behind was worse than the pain jolting through every nerve in his body. "Stay here; rest." He gave Kíli one of his rare smiles; the one reserved only for his sister-sons. "Join us when you're healed."

_But it's Erebor, Uncle, please don't do this…_

But he found himself mute; he could not say anything, the disbelief at his failure was far too great. He was not to accomplish the one thing he and Fíli had dreamed of since they were children. He was not to be there when his Uncle stepped into their beloved home; he was not to fight the dragon (if it lived) beside Fíli, protecting him with his heart and his body.

Thorin turned away with a sad sigh, and Kíli found himself backing up slowly. Someone put an arm round his shoulder and guided him to sit on a nearby crate, still stunned. He vaguely heard Fíli arguing with Thorin and tried to tell him it wasn't worth it—he didn't want strife between them, and part of him understood Thorin was right, he was more a liability now than an asset—but all he could choke out was, "Fíli…"

He didn't want any of this to be happening.

He fussed weakly at Ryn, who was kneeling next to him and murmuring something. He couldn't really tell what she was saying, but he didn't want her…he didn't want anything but to be well and strong and standing beside his brother, who was…

Stepping out of the boat?

"Fíli, don't be a fool!" he heard Thorin hiss. "You belong with the Company."

Fíli glared. "I belong with my brother."

_No Fee, no, you should go, someone has to protect Uncle and this was your quest as much as mine, you have to go for both of us now…_

But he couldn't say any of it. He had run out of energy, the last of it draining away with the death of his childhood dream. Fíli was standing beside him, hand on his back, and Kíli saw Ryn speaking briefly with Thorin earnestly, quietly. He said something back, then nodded his head, and she took something from Oin.

_Is she staying too?_

He could hardly muster the will to care. He let his head drop; feeling dizzy and sick, wishing whoever was playing that obnoxious, off-key music would just stop already.

The pain lanced through his thigh, reaching from his toes all the way to his ribs, and he shuddered against it.

The red-headed blowhard was on about great fortune and prosperous journeys, and Kíli ignored his words and the awful music, instead watching the boat pull away, watching his Uncle standing tall and proud at the front, leading his men to Erebor.

_I should be with him._

As much as he hated that Fíli had stayed, though, he couldn't deny he was comforted greatly by his brother's presence. Ryn, too, though he hoped she wouldn't try to use her Eiri skills on him again.

The pain wrenched his leg again, and he bit his lip to avoid crying out.

_Rukhsul. Bloody damn—ow._

Oh, he wasn't feeling so well. Ryn was talking to him, her face twisted in a grimace of fear, but his ears were full of cotton and his vision was spotty.

_What?_

Her green eyes were so wide and pretty. Had he ever told her that before? It was the last thing he thought before blackness overtook him.

* * *

"Kíli? Kíli!" Fíli cried, and the fear in his voice was something Ryn recognized.

"_Talos? Nadadith, please wake up…."_

She shook herself. No time for this now. "Wait here, don't let him fall," she ordered Fíli and Bofur (who was rather hung over, but she could take care of his headache later), "Let me run and get the Master. Surely there are healers in this town."

She ran, as the Master was leaving his platform and heading back to the Town Hall. "Wait, please!"

He did not even slow. She ran faster.

Catching up, she grabbed his sleeve. "Wait! Please, help us!" The Master looked down at her coldly, and his simpering sidekick smacked her hard across the face, knocking her back a step.

"You dare touch him!?"

She blinked, then straightened. "I do, for the sake of my friend. Please, are there healers here? He needs help."

The Master scoffed, and the greasy man answered. "We have no healers here who will help you."

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. "Why not?"

"Because," the Master replied imperiously. "Laketown has done its part for you and your Company. We'll not be doing any more, and especially not for some young whelp who can't even stand on his own two feet."

_Gelek menu caragu rukhs ishkak ve ondor nul, menu shirumund …_

She glared up at him. "I think you'll find, sir, that there is much more we could do for you; and you will rue the day you refused to assist one of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield." She wasn't about to reveal to this man that he had just refused aid to a Prince of Durin's Line—she wasn't stupid—in addition to one of the last descendants of the greatest Healers Middle Earth had ever seen; just let him figure that out on his own at some point.

Instead, she turned and stomped off, asking a couple people along the way if they would help. Everyone shrugged her off or begged forgiveness, as they were all far too busy or far too poor or far too useless to be of any assistance.

By the time she reached her friends, Kíli was conscious again, but so pale and so hot….

She fell into her Sight and nearly screamed in alarm. He was a tangle of dark grey, his energy hardly shimmering at all like the two dwarves on either side of him. The black had spread to nearly choke out his own aura completely, and it was absolutely terrifying.

_What is happening? Why can I not fix this?!_

"We need to get to Bard's now," she stated. "Get him up." Fíli and Bofur obeyed immediately, hoisting Kíli up between them, disregarding his moan of protest.

They nearly ran through the maze of docks and balconies back to Bard's. Ryn pounded on the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Bard answered, his gaze hardening at the sight of them. "No," he growled. "I am done with dwarves. Go away." And he started to pull the door closed. Ryn jumped in front of it.

"No, no, Please!" she begged. "No one will help us, and Kíli's very sick."

The bargeman regarded her for a moment, then looked to Kíli; he was awake, his eyes wide, but oh so pale and weak, supported by his kinsmen. Bard stood aside and let them in.

"Mahal bless you, lad," Bofur muttered as they stumbled inside.

"Please, is there a bed we can use?" Ryn asked, not willing to put off trying to treat Kíli's leg any longer. Bard motioned to a small one in the corner, and the men led him over to it. Ryn ran to the kitchen, calling to Sigrid, "please, my friend, I must beg your assistance with him."

Sigrid washed her hands in the basin of heated water. "What do you need me to do?

"Boil water, and I need clean rags." She dug in her pack, pulling out the scarlet globe mallow salve. "I also need a sharp knife soaked in alcohol and heated over the fire, please."

Sigrid looked at her, wide-eyed, but ran to comply.

"Miss Deorynn?" a small voice asked. Ryn turned to regard Tilda as Kíli cried out in pain from the corner. "What is wrong with your friend?"

She put a hand on the girl's hair. "He was hurt and we didn't clean it well enough, so now it's infected."

Tilda sucked in a breath of air. "Our neighbor had that last winter when a fishhook caught her arm. She died."

Deorynn shuddered.

"Is he going to die?"

_Oh Tilda, I wish I knew…_

"No," she murmured, opening the jar of salve. "No, he will not die."

"How do you know?

"Because I will not let him."

She washed her own hands, then walked over to Kíli. Sigrid had placed a small stack of bandages and clean rags nearby, along with some steaming water.

"Kíli," she said firmly. "Look at me." When he complied, though barely, she continued. "I'm going to unwrap this and treat it. It's going to hurt. I am sorry, but I must do this."

"No," he whimpered, and her heart broke. "No, please, Ryn, don't hurt me again…"

"I'm so sorry, love," she choked, and then cut the soiled bandages, exposing the wound to the air. She almost threw up at the sight of it; black and swollen, with streaks of infection tracking all the way down his leg and up into his hip.

_Mahal, Kíli…_

The knife had arrived and was cooling beside the bandages. Ryn would only use it if she had no other choice. She dipped a rag in the hot water, then pressed it against Kíli's leg.

He cried out softly, trying to jerk away, but she held his knee tightly. He was begging her to stop, tearing her apart with every tear that streamed down his face and every whimper of her name.

Once she was certain the wound was clean, she slathered on the scarlet globe mallow and wrapped the leg. Kíli was winded and moaning quietly when she was done, so she squeezed his sweaty hand and murmured, "That's it, that should help a bit. Does it hurt any less?"

He shook his head fitfully. "Hurts more, Ryn…"

"That's not surprising; the salve will take a little time to work. I'll check on it again in an hour, okay? If it's not better, we'll try something else." She put a hand on his cheek, and Kíli's eyes met hers, glazed over with pain. "I will make this better, Kíli, I promise."

He nodded vaguely.

_Oh Mahal, don't let me be made a liar._

* * *

Tauriel breathed deeply as she ran. The orcs were near; she could smell their heavy musk tainting the fresh, cool morning air.

_Fuion ulunn._

Legolas ran beside her, and she was more grateful for his presence than she told him. She actually had thought she was going to have to take on thirty orcs on her own; she could not ask Legolas to defy his father, not for her sake.

She liked to think that perhaps now he wasn't defying Thranduil for her sake, though, but for the sake of his own convictions, as she was.

The King was a fool if he honestly thought that what happened to the rest of Arda would not affect the Woodland Realm—and even if he were right and it would not? She _still _could not sit by and watch evil prevail when she remained hale and able to fight it.

She _would_ not.

Even if it meant destroying her welcome in the only home she'd known for six hundred years, she would not be a mere bystander in this battle. She may not be a hero, but she had some skill, and she intended to use it.

Besides, that _orch_ had said the young dwarf—Kíli, she remembered—had a Morgul poison running through his veins. Ryn had told her at one point that Eiri magic could not heal Morgul wounds; what the girl didn't know, that Galaron had told Tauriel before she left, was that any attempt to use Eiri magic on a Morgul wound would only make the poison work faster. Attempting to apply energy to speed healing, in Kíli's case, would only lend strength to the poison, working it through his body more quickly and causing him to be lost to the Shadow even sooner.

The image of Kíli's rune stone rose in her mind, and his words, "Mother gave it to me so that I would remember my promise…that I would return to her."

She picked up her pace a little.

* * *

After eight hours, and as many different treatments as she could think of, Ryn was completely at her wits end. The sun would be setting soon; she had tried salves, tinctures, digging the infection out with a sanitized knife (that particular attempt left Kíli barely conscious and Ryn weeping on the balcony), herbs that Bard had, every herb she had, and nothing had helped.

Kíli was fading. Every hour saw his fever mounting, his eyes glazing over and becoming more lifeless. Ryn had begun to suspect Morgul poison a few hours ago, and the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that was what ailed Kíli. It accounted for everything—namely, her inability to use magic to heal him, and his complete and utter lack of improvement despite the use of powerful herbs.

_Mahal, if it's Morgul poison, I can think of only one chance for him._

Cirryn had told her in Rivendell that athelas—kingsfoil—was the only herb that stood a chance against some wounds, including those inflicted by Dark Magic, though it usually required use in conjunction with an elvish spell in order to work.

Ryn was just going to have to hope that wasn't true of Kíli's wound, as the closest elves were in Thranduil's Halls, and they were not an option.

She ran back inside, the darkness gathering over Laketown, praying desperately that the ubiquitous herb grew here too.

* * *

He was swirling in a storm of pain, its icy fingers stabbing through him constantly. Fire and ice warred for domination; the prize, his soul. He could feel the darkness spreading, seeking to extinguish his life, to make him its own…

_Come to me, Kíli, son of Dis, Prince of Durin. I've never had one of your kind before; you will make a powerful servant…_

No. No no no…it would not steal him from his brother, his Uncle, his dreams and aspirations…

From Ryn.

_Save me, idúzhib, please help…._

* * *

Tauriel saw the rickety outline of Laketown, black against the growing darkness. Stopping for a moment, she and Legolas listened hard, straining their already-sensitive elf ears to determine the location of their quarry.

The town was full of evening noises—lamps being lit, parents calling children home, working utensils being put away for the night—but there were also heavy footsteps…upon the roofs. Tauriel's eyes narrowed.

They were in the town.

* * *

The sight of Kíli writhing on the bed made Ryn want to break down entirely, but something forced her to keep going—something honed by years on the road, alone, learning to operate despite her own fear.

"Do you have any kingsfoil?" she asked Bard urgently.

He looked confused. "Yes of course, it's a weed. We feed it to the pigs."

Ryn was torn—she should stay with Kíli, but she needed the athelas…

"I'll go," Bofur said instantly. He looked at Kíli, and with his customary sense of humor, shook a finger in the lad's face. "You stay right there."

Helpless until he returned, Ryn squeezed Fíli's shoulder. He was trembling under her palm, and when he looked up at her, she could see the sheer panic he was holding back. She understood it, Mahal, she did; so she knelt beside him and wrapped him in a gentle hug, and he buried his face in her neck to hide the hot tears he couldn't hold back. She stroked between his shoulder blades, murmuring in soft Khuzdul in a vain attempt to comfort the Prince.

"Ryn," he practically whimpered. "What is happening to Kee?"

"I think it's a Morgul poison, Fíli….that's why I need the athelas. It's his only hope."

Fíli shuddered. "Is there anything I can do?"

She squeezed him gently. "Only what you're already doing. Stay with him, talk to him. He doesn't want to leave you, remind him that you're here." She patted his shoulder. "I'm going to go talk to Sigrid, will you stay?"

She had a feeling Mahal himself would have trouble dragging Fíli from his brother's side right now, but she was comforted to see him nod anyway, the stubborn set of his jaw reminding her just what strength lay in the Line of Durin.

She found Sigrid on the porch. "Looking for your da?"

The girl nodded.

"I thought Bain said—"

"—he did, but they won't hold Da for long. They can't, people like him too much."

Ryn shook her head. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Sigrid barked a short, bitter laugh. "The Master is a real cockroach, Deorynn, but even he has to answer to the people of this town. My father has established himself a man of the people, and if word got out he was wrongly imprisoned, there could be a riot. Or worse, the Master might not get elected again next term."

Ryn still looked mystified; in dwarven culture, leaders were appointed, not elected, and followed without question. But then, she was hardly in a state to discuss politics at the moment.

"Huh," was all she could manage.

Sigrid gave her a small smile. "You're worried about him."

She nodded. "Of course I am."

"You love him, don't you?"

Ryn's heart skipped a beat and she tried to deny it, but the blush on her cheeks and the way her words stuttered gave her away, and Sigrid's smile widened.

"Thought so." She put her arm around Ryn's shoulders. "He'll pull through."

Deorynn gave her a smile, or started to, but an orc suddenly appeared behind Sigrid, growling gleefully; and she grabbed the human girl and spun, not quite large enough to lift her off the ground, but strong enough to knock her flat so she could kick the creature square in the chest, down the stairs.

Sigrid screeched behind her. "Inside!" she commanded.

_Orcs. Why? Because things just can't get any worse._

* * *

"_Gelek menu caragu rukhs ishkak ve ondor nul, menu shirumund…"—_You smell like orcs shat on your head, you beardless coward.

"_Fuion ulunn"—_Disgusting, hideous creatures.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY OMG!

* * *

A shrill scream rent the night air, drawing Tauriel to it like a beacon. The orcs were in one of the houses; looking for Oakenshield, she didn't doubt, though she would've been surprised if he was still there. Regardless, she shared a quick look with Legolas—he was of a similar mind—and they sprinted toward the sound.

The house was on the edge of town, and swarming with orcs. Tauriel ran for the stairs, fully aware that Legolas was engaging two of the nasty creatures behind her, certain that he could handle it—and uncertain the humans inside the house would be as fit. She stabbed an orc in the neck as she walked in the door and complete chaos met her.

Two young human females cowered on the floor, the elder attempting to protect the younger, a human boy standing over them both with a kitchen knife. She counted three dwarves and caught sight of Miriel's daggers flashing before she was caught up in a fight of her own.

She stabbed and whirled, the cramped space making fighting difficult—but also meaning that every blow did damage to an enemy, there were so many of them in a confined space. The young boy showed great courage in defending the girls; the dwarves fought, despite their lack of forged weapons, and Miriel was a blur of motion, refusing to stray far from the young dwarf who lay on the bed.

* * *

Someone was screaming. The sound hurt his head and interrupted his concentration. It was already hard enough to fight the Dark without the screaming…

_Ahhh, Son of Durin, now I will have you…_

He opened his eyes, looking around wildly, frightened of how strange everything looked. All seemed cast in shadow, dark blurry orcs overrunning the house. Other figures fought back—two of them far too tall to be his kin or even the manlings in the house.

_Elves?_

One of the dark orcs grabbed his foot and yanked. He shouted and fought back, the Darkness surging through his veins, speaking to him, calling…

_Come to me, Kíli, I can take away the pain._

A figure glowing silver stood over him, shoving the orc away and defeating it with a swing of a shining blade. He wriggled away from the creature's hold, falling off the bed in the process, the slight jarring bringing him back from the edge of the chasm in his mind.

"Kíli!" he heard a feminine voice shout. "Kíli, stay with us, just hang on a little longer!"

_A little longer, I can hang on a little longer…_

* * *

_Hang on, Kíli…._

Ryn whirled, flinging one of her daggers at the throat of a nearby orc and drawing the one at the sheath on her back. "Fíli!" she shouted, tossing him the knife, which he took gratefully and drove viciously into the chest of an orc about to take Bain's head off.

She turned back to find Kíli on the floor, shouting in agony, and Tauriel looking rather shocked above him. With the elleth's attention momentarily diverted, she nearly missed the orc at her back; but Ryn was there, ducking around her and driving the creature against the wall before slicing its throat.

Before she quite knew what had happened, it was over, the last of the monsters disappearing into the gloom outside. She breathed hard, laying her daggers down and reaching for Sigrid's hand. "Are you all right?"

The girl nodded, looking a little green. Ryn gave her a kind smile, before running to Kíli's side and kneeling, checking his aura.

He was nearly gone, poisonous black having taken over almost all of his aura.

"You killed them all," Bain murmured, awed and terrified.

"There are others," Legolas responded, walking toward the door briskly. "Tauriel."

Ryn wanted to scream. They couldn't be leaving, not yet!

"Legolas!" she cried. "Please, don't go."

The Mirkwood Prince stopped, looked at her a little sadly. "I must, Miriel. I will return soon. Come, Tauriel."

The Elf Captain stepped closer to him, but Ryn reached for her hand. "No Tauriel, please! We're losing him!"

_Please, by Mahal and all the Valar, don't leave…..help him!_

"Tauriel," Legolas commanded again, then left. The she-elf fought with herself for a moment, reaching for her daggers when she heard footsteps on the stairs outside, then taking a handful of a leafy plant with white flowers as Bofur stormed inside…

_Athelas_! Ryn exulted. Bofur had found some!

She turned her attention back to Kíli, crying out and writhing on the floor, and barely heard Bofur's, "What are you doing?"

Tauriel whispered, "I'm going to save him."

* * *

Darkness. It was everywhere, Kíli could not fight it anymore; it was too strong, too overwhelming.

_Yes, young Dwarf Prince. You are mine._

He shouted and writhed, hands were all around him, holding him tightly…

A voice was whispering in his ear, not the Dark Voice, though he couldn't make out the words. His eyes popped open and he caught a glimpse of his brother's golden hair, blue eyes…until they morphed into gray, twisted features and slimy skin, hateful words issuing from a misshapen mouth.

He tried to get away, really he did, screaming in alarm and fighting the cruel hands holding him; but he was too weak, too tired…

_Fíli, nadad, I cannot endure…Ryn, forgive me…._

A shudder of pain ran through his body.

_Yes, give up. Just let go, son of Dis._

The thought of his mother broke his heart further. He was failing everyone….

_Khagan….men gajamu…._

Soft words reached his ears, in a language he did not understand; but the pain reached new heights a moment after, when someone pressed something into his wound and it burned fiery hot. His back arched off the table as he screamed again, the fire spreading through his veins, the voice of the Dark screaming too….

_No! No, he is mine, you cannot have him!_

The words punched through his consciousness again, "Ui el i na dannen ann nin, O' leithon gurth, mellon nin a hun…"

They were lovely words, and his eyes opened to a light beside him. It was the red-haired elf captain, the one he'd told about the fire moon all those nights ago, in an elven dungeon far away…

The Darkness assaulted him again, burning ice in his soul. _He is mine!_

_**No.**_

The fire danced through him as he began to fight again_. __**No, I am not yours.**_

"Ui el i na dannen ann nin, O' leithon gurth, mellon nin a hun…"

The elf was lit with a glow that was nearly blinding. He latched onto the light and refused to let go, the fire dimming as the ice receded with a final scream from the Darkness. Warmth flooded his body, the pain lessening; still he held onto the light and the soft words Tauriel spoke, and now it seemed he could understand them…

"Eternal star, give strength to the fallen, release from death the friend of my heart…"

He stared at her, unwilling to let go, until the shadows around him became the figures of his friends again—Fíli was at his head, tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked up at the elf-maid; the human children were at his side…

He was so tired.

One last look at the elf, no longer able to see her light, and his eyes drifted closed; finally released from that horrific pain and horror, able to sleep…

* * *

Fíli wanted to weep, this time in relief. Kíli had improved markedly in only minutes; his eyes growing warm and brown again, a little more color returning to his cheeks, his breathing evening considerably and his muscles relaxing. When he fell into a deep sleep, the young dwarf prince had to press their foreheads together to hide the display of emotion that he could not stifle.

When he gathered himself, he saw Bofur with Tilda and Bain, Sigrid cleaning up the kitchen, and Ryn talking quietly to Tauriel. He laid his brother's head down gently, then went to Ryn's side.

"I will go ahead and bandage his leg," the elf was saying. "You should leave the athelas on it for about three hours, then clean the wound again. You can use a salve after that; it will begin to act like a normal injury now."

"Can I heal it, then?"

Tauriel shifted. "I don't know, though I wouldn't try it if I were you. I don't know what would happen; no one does."

The girl shivered next to him, and he squeezed her shoulder.

"All right." She threw her arms around the elf captain then, and murmured something in the flowery elvish language that Fíli didn't understand. Tauriel smiled. "You are welcome, _mellon nin_, I am glad to have been able to help."

Fíli stepped forward and grasped her arm. "Thank you, Lady Elf; neither of us can express our gratitude."

She nodded to him, and bow of respect and affection, then walked to where Kíli lay, handling his leg gently.

Ryn turned to Fíli, relief evident in her eyes. "He's going to be all right."

The dwarf smiled.

* * *

"Tauriel."

The young elf turned to him, eyes searching quickly for his kin and friends—the ones he would doubtless want to see as soon as he was lucid.

Which she very much doubted he was right now.

"Lie still," she ordered gently.

"Tauriel…wh-where is she?" Tauriel went to shush him again, but he continued, "Where is Ryn? She was so good to me, and I pushed her so far away…" Her heart hitched at the sadness in his halting words. "She is full of light, the daughter of ancient magic…" his voice broke, and Tauriel's eyes found Deorynn standing nearby, looking stricken. "It was just a dream…"

Tauriel laid a hand on his arm, attempting to soothe him quietly, but his gaze didn't leave hers.

"Do you think she could have loved me?"

Looking at the young woman, Tauriel felt no doubt at all when she answered, "I am sure she loves you still. But you _must_ rest."

He shook his head. "She is not here; it has to have been a dream…"

Tauriel motioned to Ryn. "Come, _mellon nin_, I fear he will not rest until he knows you are here. Fever dreams are odd things like that."

Deorynn approached, threading her fingers through his hair gently. "Kíli, âzyungel; please sleep, my love. I am right here."

Kíli reached for her, and she gave him her free hand, keeping the other on his fevered cheek. "Ryn…"

"Shhh. Sleep."

He shook his head fitfully. "Ryn, I can't tell what is real…I was so cruel to you…"

She pressed her lips to his gently, a short kiss before whispering, "Hush, my Kíli, it was not your fault. I love you. You will be well. Now is the time to regain your strength. Fíli is here too, and I'll make sure he gets some sleep, but he won't if you don't, the silly dolt; so just rest, roðuljós."

His eyes fluttered closed, and she laid his hand down softly; walking to Fíli's arms and breaking down against his chest. The blond dwarf held her, his own tears falling unchecked into her hair, and Tauriel turned away, feeling as though she was intruding on something intensely personal.

* * *

Bofur watched in fascination. So that was the way of it, then? Their dashing youngest prince had caught the eye of Lady Deorynn?

He found he wasn't really surprised. They made a good team, and frankly, it was hardly a wonder they'd fallen for one another. He wouldn't have wanted to be them, though. That relationship was going to meet up with some serious opposition.

All the more reason he smiled to see them together now, before politics and shrewd conniving people got involved.

Also before Thorin found out.

* * *

They said goodbye to Tauriel soon after that, her red hair flying as she ran out the door gracefully, apparently hoping to catch up to Legolas. Ryn would have rather she'd stayed, but the elleth was not willing to abandon her dearest friend to the orcs, able as he was, and the girl could hardly fault her for that.

Everyone except Kíli made themselves quite busy cleaning up the wasted room. The holes in the ceiling would have to wait for the next day—Bain said he didn't think it would rain anyhow—but the orc bodies littering the house were pushed over the railing into the lake, the bloodstained rugs gathered to be burned, the tables and chairs set right again. It was well past midnight when they finished, and even then, Ryn couldn't bring herself to sleep, exhausted as she was, without washing at least some of the orc-slime and blood off her body. She walked down to the bathing-area below the house, stripping off her armor, weapons and boots and having a quick wash.

She returned a few minutes later to find everyone asleep already. She smiled fondly at Bard's three children all curled up together in the large bed, Bofur snoring in the corner—she tucked a blanket around him, too, poor lad was going to wake up freezing—and Fíli sleeping in a chair beside Kíli's bed. His hand had snuck out from the blanket and lay atop Kíli's, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. She nearly giggled, only just now realizing how deeply her despair at ever seeing Kíli well again had run.

She looked around for a place of her own to sleep. There were no more beds, and the floor was out of the question. She groaned at the idea of sleeping in a chair, then noticed a space beside Kíli that was definitely big enough for her to be rather comfortable in…

Refusing to think twice, she dropped her boots and crawled into the bed, keeping a respectful distance between her and the prince, but couldn't resist resting her hand on his back to feel his heartbeat, slow and steady now, in sharp contrast to the earlier panicked fluttering. His breaths were deep and healthy, unlike the shallow, biting ones from a few hours ago. He was no longer pale and sweating, but sleeping quietly, and the relief was physical enough to bring tears to her eyes again.

_He's alive, he's going to be healthy again soon, he's fine, just breathe, Ryn…_

Heaving a shaky sigh, scooting just a little closer, Ryn closed her eyes and was asleep within minutes.

* * *

"_Khagan….men gajamu…."—_Mother….I'm sorry….

* * *

A/N: *breathes* Well, there you have it; hopefully that all lived up to expectations! Finally some fluff for our poor, exhausted friends! I have it on good authority there will be more fluff very soon… Couple of quick notes here: 1) since the focus of this story is Ryn and Kíli, and we all know what happens once the rest of the Company reaches Erebor, we're not going to be following both storylines here. There might be snippets of Bilbo or Thorin's POV, but you likely won't hear much from them until later. 2) In the book, the trek from Laketown to Erebor took six days. That was without Bolg and his cronies on their tale, though, so for the purposes of this story, the trip will take three or four days. But Smaug won't be attacking Laketown tonight, so our lovelies can rest peacefully for now.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N:** SO. MUCH. FLUFF. **

* * *

Ryn woke a couple of times through the night to check on Kíli's wound, cleaning it and bandaging it up with a dressing of comfrey and aloe, hoping to soothe the pain. She was pleased to see the wound beginning to heal already; the streaks of infection beneath his skin had disappeared, and the injury now just looked pink and painful, like an arrow wound should. The aloe seemed to work against the pain; Kíli only slept deeper as the night wore on. Finally, about an hour before dawn, she felt confident enough in his progress to actually sleep restfully; curled up beside him with their fingers just touching.

* * *

Fíli awoke to Bain calling and poking him timidly. He sat bolt upright, instantly alert for trouble, Ryn's spare dagger in his hand. Bain jumped back, looking guilty.

"I'm sorry to wake you, there's no danger," the boy said quickly. "I just need your help, and I'm afraid to wait any longer; it's almost dawn."

Fíli blinked, confused. "Of course I'll help. What do you need?"

"The black arrow. I stashed it in a fisherman's boat nearby-I'm afraid the man will take his boat out fishing at dawn and it will be lost to us." The boy shifted again, half-ashamed as he admitted, "I could go myself, it's not far, but after last night..."

Fíli stood quickly, stifling a groan as his tired body protested, muscles sore and joints creaking. He _hated _sleeping in chairs. He could do it, but he always paid for it in the morning.

"Of course you shouldn't go out there alone yet. Let's go," he managed a smile for his young friend.

The trip to the boat and back was uneventful; the town was still mostly asleep, and the orcs were long gone. Bain uncovered the arrow quietly, and Fíli motioned for it. Accustomed to hiding blades on his person, he tucked the arrow into his jacket. It was a large arrow, almost too long to fit in his jacket-but fit it did, and they made it back to Bard's house without any trouble at all, just as the sky began to lighten. The boy breathed an audible sigh of relief when they closed the door, and Fíli smiled and squeezed his shoulder.

Looking Bain in the eye, he handed him the arrow, and murmured so only he could hear, "You were very brave last night. Your father will be proud to hear of it."

Bain's eyes widened, and he blinked furiously to hold back the tears that suddenly sparked in his eyes. Fíli remembered his own first skirmish, and understood entirely. "I was so scared," Bain whispered, as if confessing a grievous sin.

"You were wise to be afraid," Fíli countered. "It was a dangerous situation. But you acted in spite of your fear, and saved the lives of your sisters in the process." He placed a hand on the nape of the boy's neck and pulled their foreheads together, wondering if such a gesture was too intimate for humans, but Bain just closed his eyes and leaned into the dwarfish embrace.

"I killed two of them," he choked out. "I hated it."

Fíli chuckled quietly. "That's what makes you different from them. Very few warriors enjoy killing, Bain, and that's okay too."

The boy nodded a little against Fíli's forehead, still fighting tears. Fíli's heart went out to him; at least _his_ Uncle had been with him the first time he had killed, and had held him tightly while he cried.

He hoped Bard wouldn't mind if he acted on his behalf this once.

"It's okay to shed tears, lad," he murmured, gently wrapping his arms around the young man. "There's no shame in it."

That seemed to be all Bain needed to know, as the arrow clattered to the ground and he clutched Fíli to him, sobbing into the fur of his collar.

Fíli held him until he was spent, answering all his questions and quieting his doubts; until Sigrid began banging pots around in the kitchen-he was certain the lass had seen her brother weeping, and was attempting to alert him that the household was waking without embarrassing him-and Bain pulled back, wiping his eyes.

Fíli smiled at him. "Are you all right?"

He nodded slowly. "I will be. Thank you."

"Anytime. The first battle is always difficult; you're not the first one to struggle with it, laddie."

Mahal knew, he was not the first to struggle with it.

* * *

When Kíli's eyes fluttered open, it was well past dawn. In fact, judging by the light, he'd have guessed it was pretty close to mid-morning. He felt heavy with contentment, and warm, his leg barely twinging in pain once in a while. Someone was next to him; he could feel their slow breaths on his shoulder, so he turned his head to look.

His lips curled into a smile when he saw Ryn, sleeping deeply with her hand inches from his arm. He turned gingerly onto his side, careful to avoid jarring his leg, and swept a curl behind her ear. He watched her, allowing his memories-disjointed and vague as they were-to swirl around the events of the previous day. He remembered the agony, the fire and ice, the battle against the Darkness; remembered seeing Fíli turn into a disgusting, twisted orc before his very eyes and the despair that overwhelmed him in that moment. He remembered the orcs in the house, the one grabbing his ankle, and the figure of blinding silver light that had saved him and shouted to him to hold on.

He was certain now that it had been her.

He also remembered her gentle reassurances after his healing, when he awoke and couldn't remember if she was real or not, if they were real or not. She had kissed him, and his lips tingled with the memory, aching to taste her again, so he leaned toward her and pressed them gently to her brow. She shifted in sleep, a tiny whimper escaping as she nuzzled closer to him. He smiled and pulled her against him, so his face was inches from hers. He was still exhausted, and his eyes felt heavy again after only a few minutes, but he didn't want to close them.

He was just about to give into his sleepiness when she began to stir, little waking up noises and tiny stretches making him smile. He waited until her eyes fluttered open, bright green in the morning light, and she blinked sleepily at him. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and he couldn't wait any more. He pressed a kiss to each of those sweet dips in the corners of her mouth, and her smile grew. When he pulled back a little, she whispered, "Good morning."

"Mmmm. It is indeed."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little sleepy, a little pain in my leg, and..." he hesitated for a second, seeming to decide something. "...Definitely hungry. Starving, in fact."

Ryn's eyes lit at that, and she laughed and kissed him again. "Hungry is good," she whispered against his lips. "You'll get your strength back quickly now."

Kíli caught her face between his hands-he suddenly felt considerably less like eating-and tangled his fingers in her hair, trapping her lips against his. They lay there, tasting each other, both far too tired to do much else-though not for lack of desire, Kíli thought-until Ryn pulled away slowly. His lips chased her soft skin, catching her jaw.

"Kíli," she murmured, breathless.

"Mmmm?"

"Kíli, I should get up and help the others. There's a lot of-" she broke off with a gasp when he nibbled a spot on her jaw, much to his amusement. "-a lot of cleaning up to do, and anyway-" she let out a shuddering sigh when he kissed her ear. "-we haven't spoken to your Uncle yet, and we said we'd not do anything until...then..._Mahal_, Kíli..."

He laughed at her flustered words, he couldn't help it. They did need to pull away, cool down; but she was just so adorable when she was hot and bothered. He stroked her cheek tenderly. "I'm sorry, I'll stop."

She nuzzled his nose. "Don't ever apologize for making me feel like this. I have never felt so loved in all my life." She kissed him once more, deeply, then sat up. He grinned; her hair was a mess, her lips pink from all the attention.

She looked positively _delicious._

Until she turned back to him as she stood, a wicked grin on her face, her snark back in full force. "Besides, you smell like a sweaty orc. You need a bath, my prince. I'll see to it Fíli is made aware of this."

"Fíli? Why?"

She grinned as she pulled on her boots. "Because you can't submerge that arrow wound, and you can't walk on your own yet." If he had any doubt she was turning his treatment of her when she was dealing with the wolf bite back on him, it was quickly dispelled when she added, with a flip of her now-brushed hair, "Not even to the bathroom."

He growled at her. "I guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

She shook a finger at him. "Oh no, we won't _'see about that_.' You've done quite enough NOT listening to the Healer. I have Fíli and Bofur backing me now; you have no choice in the matter, my love." Then she winked and left.

Durin's beard, this girl had him wrapped around her finger.

* * *

Bard had been summoned to the Master's public chambers early that morning. The man had been unusually charitable, giving Bard a rather tame lecture on the importance of following established authority and not seeking to secretly subvert it, especially in these tough times, and et cetera. Bard had honestly checked out about two minutes into it, devoting his attention to trying to figure out why the Master was letting him go without charging him.

It had become rather obvious a few minutes later, when the man had told him to go home and check on his children, as there had been an orc raid the night before and neighbors had spoken of screams coming from his cottage.

Bard was gone so quickly the Master didn't even have time to dismiss him.

Now he ran desperately through town, praying to all the Valar his children were safe, and if they were feeling particularly merciful, the dwarves too.

_Please, don't take my children, not this way..._

He stormed into the house, stopping just inside as everyone froze in surprise, the dwarves' hands straying to their blades. He didn't care; he was busy with a mental checklist-Sigrid in the kitchen, standing, looking no worse for wear; Bain standing beside the gold-haired dwarf, a bruise on his cheek, and a badly bandaged arm, but generally all right; and-

"Da!" Tilda broke the spell, running to her father and jumping into his arms. He held her tight for mere moments before pulling away and looking her over for injuries.

She was fine.

The relief nearly knocked him off his feet-and Sigrid and Bain tackling him _did_. They all collapsed into a giant tangled pile of limbs, tears, and hugs.

"Father, we were so frightened!"

"The orcs came, they had huge knives, da!"

"Bain was so brave; he fought them off with a kitchen knife!"

"The dwarves and elves saved us-"

"-and then the redheaded elf healed the dark dwarf with magic!-"

"-and there were bodies everywhere, and we had to burn the rugs, da-"

"Wait, wait, one at a time!" Bard shouted over the din, and he heard laughter. It was the dwarves and the healer girl-they looked absolutely delighted at the reunion; Bard felt a rush of gratitude and affection for these near-strangers who had apparently preserved the lives of his children.

As he heard the entire story over the next hour, he realized just how deep that debt ran. These had helped his young ones through the hardest night they would have ever experienced, had seen them through and kept them safe. At the end of the tale, Sigrid served breakfast with the help of Tilda and the girl-Deorynn was her name. As she put a plate down in front of Bain, she caught sight of the lad's sliced arm, which he was attempting to re-bandage on his own.

"Bain!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

He looked a little sheepish. "You were so busy with Master Kíli, and then everyone was exhausted, and then Da came home, and I just...hadn't thought of it until now. It kind of hurts..."

The girl tsked and sat beside him. "You should've told me about this last night, lad. Here, hand me your arm."

She laid her hand over the deep cut-it would need stitches, Bard knew-then looked around the table, seeming to think twice about something.

"Um...Bard?" she said timidly. "May I have permission to heal your son?"

_What?_

"Yes, of course," he replied, confused. She nodded and turned back to Bain. "Listen, this might feel a little odd, but I promise it won't hurt you, all right?"

Bain nodded, while Bard wondered at the wisdom of lying outright to the boy. Stitches _hurt._

But she didn't stitch. She focused on the wound, and her hand began...glowing.

Bard dropped his spoon and stood abruptly. Sigrid gasped, and Tilda stared. Only the dwarf with the funny hat looked undisturbed, though fascinated.

They watched as Bain's muscle and skin knitted themselves back together again, leaving nothing but tanned skin when she finished. With a smile, she placed his arm on the table, and Bain looked at it as though it didn't belong to him, disbelieving.

Looking around the table, Deorynn blushed deeply and picked at her bacon.

"What is this sorcery?" Bard whispered in awe.

The girl looked a little offended. "It's not sorcery, not like that. Have you heard of the Eiri?"

Bard nodded vaguely. "Who hasn't? But they're extinct."

She smiled. "Indeed they are. Their magic lives on in some of their descendants."

"So she's a warrior _and_ a magic healer?" Tilda whispered loudly to Sigrid.

Deorynn laughed, "I can manipulate energy, that is all, Tilda. I healed your brother's arm by drawing energy from the fish in the lake and applying it to his wound, speeding the healing to a speed where you could see it happening, that is all."

_That's all, she says_...Bard felt a little faint_. First a Company of dwarves, then orcs, then an extinct legend. I'm playing host to the oddest assortment of creatures these days..._

The girl was looking at him worriedly. "You don't mind that I healed Bain that way, do you? I could've used herbs and stitches, but it seemed like such a hassle..."

He laughed, disbelieving. "I don't mind at all, I'm just in shock is all."

She smiled. "You should've seen my reaction when _I_ found out I could do it."

* * *

Fíli chuckled as he brought both his and Kíli's breakfast into the small bedroom, sitting down beside his brother to eat.

"What's so funny?" Kíli asked.

"Ryn just healed a nasty cut on Bain's arm that he got last night. You should've seen the reactions." Fíli mimed complete shock and consternation, and Kíli snorted.

"I hardly blame them. Eiri healing isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Fíli eyed him. "I'll have you know that wasn't her fault, nadadith. Tauriel explained it all to us last night; Eiri magic can't heal Morgul wounds. It actually lends them strength, making everything worse."

"My point exac—"

"—and Ryn just about lost it when Tauriel told her," Fíli interrupted him sharply. "She was devastated. But it's very much like when she accidentally sucked the life out of that entire bandit camp—a beginner's error, and not nearly the worst one she could've made_. And_ she ended up saving your life anyway, so you still owe her."

Kíli looked uncomfortable. "I wasn't _blaming_ her…wait, I thought Tauriel healed me."

Fíli snorted. "Only because Ryn sent Bofur for the kingsfoil, and then _begged_ the she-elf to help you."

Kíli paled a bit, and Fíli took pity on him. "I'm sure that didn't make it any less painful for you, and I'm sorry, Brother; but so is she. She'll probably bring it up sometime; I know she feels terrible about it still. But she was trying to help you; and trust me, one day you're going to be glad of her healing abilities."

Kíli nodded.

"Regardless," Fíli smiled, tossing an arm around his brother's shoulder. "Here you are now, and I'm so relieved I can hardly stand it."

Kíli hugged him back. "Me too, nadad. Me too."

* * *

The Master's attention was piqued. "So you're telling me the dwarves who stayed behind are at Bard's? They didn't leave yet?"

"That's right."

"Well," the corpulent man said, steepling his fingers and sitting back in his chair. "That is interesting. Most interesting indeed."

"Shall I arrange an accident, sire?"

The Master scoffed. "No. Just watch them. Report back to me. There will be no need for an accident."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: After this chapter, we will have very definitely left the territory of PJ's films—and crap is about to hit the fan. Thanks to all of you who follow, favorite, and review—and welcome to the new readers! Hope this all lives up to expectations! Guest reviewers, I'm sorry I can't respond to your reviews, but I read every one of them, and they're all such an encouragement! Thank you!

* * *

Kíli reached the edge of consciousness at the sound of a whimper. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to determine where the small sound had come from—it was probably one of the children, they had all suffered from nightmares the last two nights (unsurprisingly), as had Fíli. Kíli himself was still healing, and had spent the last couple nights sleeping under a shockingly strong herb tea Ryn had created for him. Apparently her connection to all things living had allowed her to glimpse interactions between plants that made for extremely potent healing herbs (and conversely, horrifyingly potent poisons; she had confessed as much to him the night before, in hushed tones, as if afraid he would suddenly mistrust her since she knew how to poison someone effectively. He had laughed and kissed her to shut her up).

Tonight was the first night he'd slept without the herbs; and he, too, found himself awakened, sweating, by a night terror. Gray, slimy fingers and misshapen faces had twisted in perverse glee, agony and fear and horrible anger…

There it was again, that whimper. It wasn't coming from the room Bard's family was sharing, but one of the makeshift straw mattresses they had put together their first full day here for the dwarves and Ryn. Kíli had wanted to insist on giving her the bed, and him sleeping on the floor, but the girl wouldn't hear of it, citing her own ability to walk over his 'grievous and perhaps dangerous leg wound.'

He was certain she was enjoying telling him what to do and his inability to do anything about it. Fíli was no help at all, siding firmly with Ryn the Healer, and snickering as Kíli was ordered about by his sweetheart.

_Traitor._

Next came a shuddered gasp, and this time he could tell it was coming from Ryn's nearby pallet. He sat up slowly, watching her in the moonlight that snuck through the window. Her face was twisted in a grimace, and he thought he could see tears on her cheeks. She was twitching a bit, tossing and turning while her feet kicked now and then.

He wondered if she was being chased, in her dream, or else running toward something.

Pity pricked his heart at how vulnerable she looked, and he had just decided to go wake her when she sat bolt upright with a stifled cry. She looked around wildly, breathing hard, before her gaze landed on him. He held out his hand to her, and she stumbled to her feet and came to him, crying.

"Ryn," he whispered softly. "Hush now, âzyungel, you're safe."

"I could have killed you, Kíli!" She clutched his shirt in her fists desperately. "I nearly killed you, and I'm so...so sorry..."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Ryn, look at me."

Still trembling, she complied.

"I am all right now. Thanks to you. Your magic is unfamiliar to all of us, Ryn; even the elves don't know everything about it. That means there is going to be some trial and error in learning the use of it. We'll call what happened with me an error and leave it at that." He stroked the hair beside her face, sandy waves dark in the moonlight. "You saved me in the end, and that's what matters."

"Kíli…" she whimpered, and he pulled her tight against his chest, soothing her gently until she fell asleep against him.

* * *

The sun rose bright and warm over the Long Lake the next morning. The daylight found Ryn and Kíli sitting on Bard's tiny balcony, swathed in blankets against the morning chill and talking quietly. It was the third full day since Kíli's rescue from the Morgul poison that threatened his life, and his arrow wound was healing rapidly, tended by Ryn's herbal concoctions of whatever Laketown had to offer. She had left town and gone ashore the day before, exploring the southern woods for herbs they could use to speed Kíli's healing (and sell to the rest of the town). She was teaching Sigrid as she went, having noted the girl's fascination with herb lore, and knowing that good money could be made off such a skill. She had discovered several plants that the humans had not realized could be used for healing, and combined them in ways unheard of to create powerful salves and teas.

Kíli's wound, for example, was healed enough that she had agreed to let him walk today.

She grinned, thinking of him reluctantly following her every order the last two days, backed as she was by both Fíli and Bofur, and even Bard—who had taken an especial shine to the young archer—though she suspected Fíli's support was what really turned the tide in her favor regarding his stubbornness. Regardless, she was glad to see him improving so rapidly, and had agreed he was ready to be up and about on his own.

Which was why it was with much pride indeed he had gotten up from bed that morning and walked outside (only leaning on her arm occasionally) to wrap up in a wool blanket with her and snuggle while the sun rose. He had balked at her use of the word to describe what they were doing, though he hadn't pulled away in the slightest.

"Dwarves do not _snuggle_," he'd protested.

She'd laughed. "Tell that to the one that currently has his arms around me."

He'd made a face, then, conceding her point. "Fine. But if you ever tell Thorin we 'snuggle,' I might have to withhold any further displays of affection until I heal from the beating he'll give me." She'd kissed his cheek. "Well. We wouldn't want that."

Now they were quiet, watching the riot of color in the sky reflecting off the lake, warm despite the cold morning air. Autumn was definitely in full swing at this point, and it was easy to tell in the northern climate. Kíli sighed.

"Do you think they've made it to Erebor yet?"

She started as she remembered the date. "Today is Durin's Day."

He nodded.

"Well," she murmured, thinking. "It's been three days. How far is Erebor from here, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, really, though I think Uncle said it's usually a five day journey."

"But they were to travel at speed, plus the orc pack was on their tail..." she petered off, tensing. Kíli shuddered against her, and she hastened to reassure him. "I'm sure they're fine. First of all, they took the boat-and the orcs have none, so they'd be out of their reach for most of the trip anyway. Also, Legolas and Tauriel went after the orc pack, so they may have destroyed them all by now."

Kíli muttered, "Hopefully."

"Now that you're getting stronger every day, we should start talking about following them, though. To Erebor."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips at the idea. She returned it, though the thought of taking to the wilderness again, even with Kíli on the mend, frightened her more than she wanted to admit. However, he was vastly improved; and all of them had promises to fulfill, a dragon to defeat, and a quest to complete.

"We might even be able to leave tomorrow, depending on how your wound is this evening," she conceded.

He squeezed her shoulder, and when she looked, the excitement on his face quieted her worries temporarily. This was, after all, why he had basically crossed Arda-to reclaim his home, not sit idly by in a rickety town on a lake while his kin did the reclaiming. She couldn't deny him that now.

Even if the end of the quest frankly terrified her. You know, aside from the whole facing-down-a-dragon bit.

What if Thorin wouldn't be persuaded to accept their relationship? What if he took back his offer of a place for her in Erebor?

What if Kíli chose to stay with his family?

She shifted uncomfortably, hating this train of thought, trying to trust what he had told her at Beorn's; but feeling like it was necessary to prepare herself for the possibility of everything ending once Erebor was reclaimed. After all, if Kíli was forced to choose, she would hardly blame him for staying with his family, in his kingdom, honoring his heritage and his duties as a Prince. In fact, she would insist upon it, if it came down to it.

The thought of being alone again-wandering constantly, the ubiquitous silence, retreating to the shadows and the 'freedom' of having nothing to tie her to a particular place or person-was suddenly much less desirable than it had been at the beginning of the summer.

Kíli seemed to know what she was thinking, because he squeezed her shoulder again. "You know, the end of the quest will mean a new start for us."

She shifted. "Yes, if your uncle approves."

"When," a familiar voice spoke up to their right, from the door. Fíli grinned. "_When_ our uncle approves."

* * *

Fíli almost laughed at the sight of them, all wrapped up together on the balcony. They didn't even hear him coming, so he just inserted himself neatly into the conversation. Neither of them looked at all offended by this; Kíli just smiled and Ryn looked anxious. In all the fuss of the last several days, he'd nearly forgotten that he hadn't had a chance to tell them why he was certain they would be accepted as a couple by Thorin, and later, the Court.

He sat down beside Kíli, and his brother made room for him under the blanket-it was pretty cold out-and smiled when he settled in against his shoulder. Fíli thanked him, then began, "Ryn, do you know the story of Durin the Deathless?"

He saw Kíli's brain make the connection instantly; his eyes lit up and his face relaxed into the biggest smile Fíli had seen from him in a good long time. "Fíli, you are a genius!" he laughed, tossing his head back and whooping his joy. Ryn just looked confused. "Of course I do, what dwarrow doesn't?"

Fíli nodded. "As you say. Do you remember who the most famous of his wives was?"

It clicked; Fíli grinned again as she sucked in a breath. "The Elf Princess..._Miriel_." She looked at him with big round eyes. "Durin married someone who _wasn't a dwarf_."

"He didn't have much of a choice, at the time; there weren't any other dwarves yet," Fíli reminded her. She nodded, hope blooming in her chest.

"Indeed," Kíli's voice was tight with excitement. "And you even bear her elven name."

Fíli smiled as she looked to his brother, still obviously grappling with the implications of this. "Kíli," she murmured. "That just might fly. There's...there's a _chance_ for us."

He laughed. "More than a chance, I'd say. Some people will still fuss, but nobody will be able to argue against Durin himself."

Ryn looked like all her dreams had just come true at once. She leaned over Kíli and planted a kiss on Fíli's cheek, fixing her gaze on him as she drew back. "You," she murmured, "are amazing."

Kíli feigned offense. "Hey! What about me? I'm the one you should be kissing!"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You haven't cleaned your teeth yet, your breath smells terrible."

Fíli laughed as Kíli looked horrified, breaking up their little huddle to limp back inside for his bristle-brush and mint oil. Ryn laughed and they both stood too. She hugged him. "I'm serious. Thank you, Fíli."

He returned the embrace. "Anything for you two, my lady."

* * *

Tauriel touched Legolas on the shoulder to waken him from his rest. Fortunately, elves needed less sleep than other races, so she and the Prince had managed to keep up with the orc pack. Unfortunately, the orcs seemed to rest less than they did, so they hadn't gained on them at all. Tauriel could still smell them on the air, though; disgusting, smelly creatures-and there was no death on the breeze, which told her they hadn't caught the dwarves yet-but it was only a matter of time at this point.

At this rate, she estimated the dwarves would reach Erebor by mid-afternoon, and if she and Legolas left now, they might catch the orcs before then; giving the dwarves time to get inside the mountain.

After that, Valar only knew what would happen. All she knew was that their only hope of defeating the dragon lay with those dwarves getting inside Erebor-and the defeat of that dragon was somehow vitally important. She could sense it; though how, she did not know.

"Are you rested?" she asked her longtime friend. He nodded. "You?"

"I am well. Let us be gone."

They took off toward the scent, following heavy boot tracks in the soft dirt.

* * *

The dwarves and Ryn spent that day packing and preparing to leave. Bard agreed to lend them his boat; even with the necessity of rowing, that would make for an easier journey for Kíli, so Ryn was all for it. They could follow the river to the base of the mountain, and then find the Company from there. It was decided they would leave once darkness settled in, to avoid any interference from the Master.

"Does he even know we're still here?" Kíli asked.

"He does," Ryn answered darkly. "The orc-whelp refused to help us when you were dying."

"His nasty sidekick gave Ryn quite the smack," Bofur added helpfully. Kíli looked murderous.

"And he has spies watching the house," Bain added. "Different ones than usual. Meaner looking."

Bard looked concerned. "You should definitely wait until dark to leave." Fíli jumped in, asking a question that made Ryn freeze. "Will they punish you for helping us?"

Everyone looked to the bargeman. He nodded. "Probably."

Fíli stared, Kíli cursed, Bofur even looked horrified. Sigrid and Bain were quiet, but Tilda ran to her father and threw her arms around his waist. "No Da, don't let them take you again! We just got you back!"

_Maybe this isn't such a great idea..._

"Tilda, sweetling, they can't stay here forever; they have business elsewhere, and we can't help what the Master does when he finds out they're gone."

"Can't they talk to him? It's not our fault they're leaving! Why does he want them to stay anyway; he hates them!"

"Because he wants to be in control of them; and we helped them and he hates that, remember? So someone has to be punished for it, in the Master's perspective."

_This is so wrong..._

"Isn't there something we can do?" Kíli asked quietly.

Bard shook his head. "The Master is an elected official. Anyone who's not a citizen of Esgaroth has no say in his appointment or his execution of his power."

"We will be fine," Bain asserted. "The Master never holds Da for long; most of the people here love him too well."

"People are fickle," Ryn muttered, but no one answered her.

* * *

Bolg felt no joy at his impending victory; the dwarf-scum had stopped on the side of the mountain and seemed to be searching for something. They would be easy enough to pick off even from a distance, should he choose to do so-which he would not. He longed to feel the crunch of bone under his hand, see the gush of hot blood from a fatal wound inflicted by his sword. His heartbeat quickened, his senses sharpening as his body readied him for battle, but he felt no joy. He had never felt an emotion like joy-triumph, yes, and a good amount of sadistic pleasure whenever he watched the life ebb from a living being. He felt anger often, and bitter hatred toward anyone not an orc-and sometimes even toward fellow orcs.

But right now his ire was firmly focused on the short, stocky dwarves-and that little curly-haired creature he'd never seen the like of before-in the valley, completely unaware of his presence. It amused him, and a cruel smile twisted his features.

"Kill them all," he ordered his remaining subordinates.

They moved to do his bidding, when two of them were felled at once with cries of agony.

_Elf arrows._

Bolg cursed furiously. They had left the elves behind in their blasted forest! What were they doing here?!

He turned, looking for a target on which to take out his rage. His gaze rested on the red-haired female, distracted by one of his better fighters; she would do nicely. He bounded toward her, a cry of fury sounding from his ruined throat.

* * *

Bilbo ran, still terrified out of his wits by the giant beast now headed for the entrance to Erebor. He saw Thorin-unharmed, thank Mahal (so now he was thanking Mahal? He'd been around dwarves far too long)-watching the great wyrm with a look of horror on his face; he had obviously thought they had bested it. Molten gold flew off Smaug's body, flying through the air and splashing to the floor, creating dangerously hot puddles, prompting the hobbit to take cover behind a large piece of broken pillar. He watched in horror as the dragon burst out of the mountain and took to the skies, shouting about the men of Laketown.

Kíli was there, as well as Fíli, Deorynn, Bofur, the bargeman and his family...not to mention all the humans who had no idea what was coming...

"What have we done?" he murmured to himself, horrified.

* * *

The tension in the house built to an almost excruciating level by sunset that evening. Excitement and anxiety swirled in the air so thickly that Sigrid was afraid she might suffocate. For her family, it was mostly fear; but she could sense how torn the dwarves and Ryn were-regardless of their own happiness to be going to their home, she knew they meant her family no harm and were concerned about what would happen to her Da.

Sigrid's concerns ran further than even that. Of course, fear for her Da took a forefront; but she also was afraid for the rest of her family. Money was tight at the best of times; without some kind of support, they could easily starve if the Master locked Da up for any length of time. She was grateful to Ryn for teaching her about the herbs-as soon as word started to get around how good they were, she would be able to bring in a decent amount of coin off those alone. Of course, if the wrong person got word, the Master would likely step in and call her medicines illegal because they were gathered from the forest (which technically belonged to Esgaroth's government)...she would have to see about gathering seeds and trying to grow the plants at home.

Bain often did odd jobs to help them get by too, but no one wanted to cross the Master over much, so work was scarce when Bard was in his bad graces.

She sighed, almost wishing they could accompany the dwarves to Erebor. Surely the dwarf king, rude and cross as he seemed, was a kinder leader than the one they had. Of course, that was silly; Erebor was the dwarves' last great kingdom-they would likely not welcome an entire human family into their midst.

Although perhaps Dale would be re-settled after the dragon was defeated (if it wasn't dead already). Sigrid allowed herself to imagine moving to Dale and helping rebuild the once-great kingdom, being subject to a (hopefully) benevolent and honorable king, her family thriving and her father finally free from the clutches and machinations of the Master.

Her daydream was interrupted by the most horrifying roar she thought she'd ever heard. It was like the sound of a hurricane; powerful and full of rage. She froze and met Da's gaze, terror hitting her like a sledgehammer when she saw him.

Da was _afraid_.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: Whooo, a busy chapter here! Lots of Smaug nastiness and super-awesome badassery all around! Special thanks to **Princess Quill** and **summerald** for their assistance with this chapter, and for their constant support!

* * *

Tauriel Itaril, Captain of the Guard of the Woodland Realm, was in pain, and also in awe. Both feelings were rare for her: after seven hundred years of life, it was difficult to awe her; and after five hundred years as a warrior, she was nearly impossible to best in combat.

However, Bolg, Azog's First Lieutenant, had hardly been a common orc. He had been bigger, smarter, and stronger than they usually were, despite the shrapnel embedded within much of his torso. And when he had decided she was in his way, the only thing that had saved her was his roar of rage. She had heard him coming, and had time to turn to meet him. Even so, his powerful blow had knocked her clean off her feet and she had landed awkwardly on her ankle, snapping it. Legolas had heard it and started toward her, but he was beset by the rest of Bolg's party (what was left of it), and she was on her own against the monstrous orc, broken ankle and all. She had pushed the pain back and risen quickly, balancing perfectly on her right ankle and throwing her dagger with all her might.

Bolg had tried to avoid it, but she was still exceedingly strong; the dagger had spun through the air, past his guard, and robbed him of his ear and a good portion of his cheek. His scream had attracted the attention of those of his subordinates not currently attacking the Prince, and two of them had converged on her at once, both meeting timely ends at the edges of her remaining dagger. By then Bolg had reached her, and he was still a formidable foe, half-faced or not.

Fortunately, so was she.

Gritting past the pain, Tauriel had spun off her good foot and brought her dagger around as she parried a blow from the orc. They had gone back and forth for a few minutes-during which time the elleth received a bloody lip and a lacerated arm for her efforts-until Bolg made one fatal mistake. He had kicked her to the ground and her dagger had bounced free of her grip, leaving her sitting on her rear, seemingly disarmed.

_The Captain of the Guard is always prepared._

As he had raised his hands high over his head to cleave her in two, she had unsheathed her boot knife and thrown herself forward, driving it into his gut with all her might-which was considerable, and slicing upward into his chest to be sure she stopped his heart.

Legolas had reached her moments later, while Bolg lay at her feet, gurgling his final breath.

They both had been a little worse for wear-the Prince sporting a bruised cheek-though she'd definitely been worse off than he. After they had gathered and cleaned their weapons, and tossed the orcs into a pile to burn, Legolas had knelt before Tauriel, gently feeling her rapidly-swelling ankle. She had gasped, but refused to cry out.

"I have to set this, _mellon nin_," he'd murmured, gentling her.

She had nodded. "Do it quickly."

The snap of her bone had been nearly as loud as the resulting cry from her throat. Legolas had wrapped it quickly before lifting her in his arms and starting south at a run.

"Where are you going?" she'd asked.

"The orcs are dead, the dwarves in Erebor," he'd replied grimly. "We must go back to Laketown before those daft dwarves awaken the dragon. Miriel can heal you, and then we can go back to the Woodland."

"To get help?"

He had fixed her with an uncomprehending look. She'd sighed. "Legolas, _hír vuin_, the dragon's wrath is going to be terrible. The people of Laketown, at the very least, will require aid."

He had looked uncomfortable. "Yes," he'd answered finally. "We will ask my father for his assistance."

But they had only been travelling for a few hours before the unmistakable sound of an angry dragon's roar reached them. Legolas stopped, turning to see the massive, glowing figure that flew overhead as the creature left the mountain for the first time in sixty years.

It was headed straight for the Long Lake, and the small town that rested on its southern banks.

Smaug was massive and awe-inspiring, like nothing Tauriel had ever seen. She caught the silhouette of bat-like wings against the moon, a red-glowing belly, and serpentine grace before catching the words it spoke:

"I am death."

It took Tauriel's breath away.

"_Berio ven Eru_," she murmured. "_Legolas, noro!"_

Legolas ran.

* * *

It had taken only a few moments for everyone in Bard's house to gather and decide upon a plan.

"I'll take the black arrow to the wind lance," Bard asserted. "Sigrid, you'll get your brother and sister into the boat and start toward shore. You won't be entirely safe in the woods, but you'll be safer than here. Get to a stream or small river if you can, stay down low, and don't let the dragon see you."

"Da, I want to go with you!" Bain had started. "The Masters men will still be out causing trouble-"

"No!" The bargeman left no room for argument.

"I'll go with you to the wind lance," Fíli said, with a nod to Bain, acknowledging his concern. "As a guard."

"I will see about organizing some sort of evacuation," Ryn put in. "Otherwise we'll just have a rout."

Fíli nodded. "Bofur, you and Kíli go with the children."

Kíli wanted to protest, but thought better of it, knowing he was still not quite healed enough to be of use anywhere else-and anyway, Bard's family would need protecting. So he nodded instead, noting Fíli's look of relief that he hadn't fought him on it.

Another roar of the massive beast headed toward them made everyone jump into action. The children and Bofur started packing up whatever they could throw in the boat and carry on their backs, while Fíli and Bard talked quietly. Ryn handed Fíli her belt of throwing knives-numbering eleven now, since Justice had found a home in Azog's shoulder all those weeks ago-stating that she wouldn't need them, her daggers would be more than enough protection while helping with an evacuation. Fíli belted the knives over his leathers and squeezed her shoulder. With a quick nod to him and Bard, Ryn left them to go help Kíli down the stairs and into the boat, giving him sundry small directions regarding his leg if she didn't see him for the next day or so.

_She could die._ The realization hit him like a physical punch to the chest, and he put a finger to her lips as she crouched before him in the boat.

"You just be safe, idúzhib. I will see you soon."

She paused, then nodded; squeezed his hand, and bounded off in the direction of the town.

* * *

Deorynn ran, banging on various doors as she went. Most everyone had heard the dragon's roar and were preparing to evacuate anyway, and there seemed to be very little panic, she noted gratefully. She ran into trouble, however, as she reached the middle of town, where some people were gathered in the square and the Master was giving a speech.

He was _giving a speech._

Ryn couldn't help but stop, trying to suss out what could possibly be so important these people weren't packing and readying to leave town yet.

"...And the dwarves that we mistakenly welcomed into our midst have now brought dragon fire upon us all!"

The crowd agreed loudly, and Ryn had heard enough. She raced to the front and stood before the people, conveniently out of reach of the Master's sniveling assistant, though the guards closed in a little bit.

"People of Laketown!" she shouted. The quieted, mostly, except for a couple choice names tossed her way that were less than amiable. "Now is not the time for this discussion. The dragon is on his way here; you must leave! Go home, in an orderly manner, pack what matters most to you, and get to shore as quickly as you can." Some people started protesting, but she shouted them down. "I know, the woods are not a complete guarantee of your survival; but you're much more likely to survive spread out in the woods, than trapped here on this floating matchbox!"

"Now!" the Master shouted, but Ryn had been anticipating a move from him, and ducked out of the guards' grabbing arms, bounding off across the docks to continue her work. "Get to shore!" she shouted once more as she ran. Several of the guards took off after her, giving chase, their skill navigating the town honed by years of living there, so that they managed to hound her steps even though she was lighter of foot and much more lithe.

"Stop! You're under arrest for disturbing the peace!"

_Mahal, are they even serious?!_

* * *

He glided along, powerful wings stretched to their full, wind in his face, cool and refreshing. It felt good to fly after so long. The sensation of air under his wings was unmatched.

He growled as he remembered _why_ he was flying.

He had let these humans fester far too long. They no longer feared him properly.

_No matter. They will fear me now._

A smile, slow and evil, spread over his face as he let his rage fill him—it would make his fire burn all the hotter.

* * *

They ran—well, Bard walked briskly and Fíli ran—along the various docks of Laketown, working to remain together in spite of the press of people running this way and that, attempting to escape the town. Rumors flew past his ears; that there wouldn't be enough boats, that the dragon would arrive before they could get away, that the Master was gone already, that the Master was urging everyone to stay because there was no dragon at all…

_Words are spent easily by men and dwarves of little honor, Fíli,_ he remembered his uncle teaching him. _ You are a Son of Durin—do not speak unless your words carry weight._

He pushed the memories away and focused on keeping up with Bard, simply shoving people aside when they would not move for him or did not see him.

His concentration was diverted when the roar sounded again, this time close enough that it forced his gaze to the sky.

The dragon was massive, a black shadow against the star-strewn sky. Its belly was glowing red, as though there were a furnace inside it. The Beast flew over the town once, screams echoing in Fíli's ears as loudly as its furious roar. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears, but pushed forward instead, keeping up with Bard, who seemed to be struggling against the same instinct.

The wind lance was visible against the moon, on the tower of the Town Hall. Bard leaped up onto a low awning a few buildings away, bending back down to give Fíli a hand up. "Best not to go directly in the front door of the Town Hall," he stated shortly as the dwarf prince levered himself up quickly. "I'm not sure where the Master is right now. Besides, this gets us above the press and panic."

Fíli nodded and they were off again. Across rooftops, hopping between buildings—an easier feat for the taller Man than the stocky dwarf, but they made it without any real incidents—and encountering their first guard on the tower of the Town Hall.

"Halt!" he shouted. Fíli drew his borrowed dagger.

"Now lad," he said in a conciliatory tone belied by his defensive stance. "We're just going up to the wind lance to take care of this here dragon that's about to turn your fine town into cinders."

"No one is allowed near the wind lance!" the man growled.

Fíli fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Nevertheless, we _are_ going."

He and Bard moved at the same time, the guard jumping for the Man but meeting Fíli instead. Bard ran and Fíli held the burly man off, eventually getting an opening to pop him on the back of the head with the hilt of the dagger and lowering him to the wood floor of the balcony easily.

"You fool," he muttered. "I hope all ends well for you tonight."

* * *

Kíli and Bofur helped the young ones out of the boat as they reached the shore. "Bain," Kíli called tightly. "Help us move the boat. It will make for a good shelter if it is not destroyed in the fire." They dragged the boat far into the trees, turning it over in a large pond with a splash and hunkering down near it. They heard the dragon pass over the town with a roar, tried to follow his progress by tracking his glowing belly against the dark sky. As the dragon circled overhead, headed back to the town, it brightened.

_Oh Mahal, no._

The first blast of dragon fire assaulted the wooden buildings on the west side of the town. Tilda whimpered at the sound of screams echoing over the lake, and Kíli stood in an attempt to see better through the trees. Bofur grabbed his ankle and shouted, "Kíli, down!" but he _couldn't_. He had to _see_.

Panic clawed at his chest. Fíli and Ryn were there, and the dragon was circling about for another run, the glow in his belly bright and his roar deafening.

Kíli didn't even hear himself screaming.

* * *

Ryn ran. There was little else left for it now. Her pursuers had broken off the chase as soon as the dragon fire began consuming the town, and now everyone was simply trying to get away from the wooden structures.

She called to the people running by her; trying to calm the hysterical ones, helping up those who fell, trying to guide the panicking women and children (and men) away from the flames and toward a boat—any boat, at this point, no one cared who owned which one. Everyone just wanted to escape.

She looked toward the wind lance, catching sight of two shadowy figures near it—Bard and Fíli had made it!

But no…there were…_three_ shadows there…

_Fíli!_

She screamed his name; certain he couldn't hear her over the panicking townspeople, as the large shadow behind him raised a glimmering knife, reflecting dully the fire light.

_No no no…._

A massive roar, a bright light, and Ryn was suddenly flying through the air. Something hit her arm and she felt skin and muscle tear. Then she smacked into something hard and the fire reached her.

_Hot, hot, oh Mahal it burns…._

She curled up and stumbled to the side, running out of dock quickly and feeling hot water surround her as she splashed into the lake.

* * *

He watched the pitiful matchstick buildings blaze. It always gave him a sort of unspeakable thrill, burning things.

_Yes, Esgaroth. You'll not seek to overthrow me again, will you? Your pitiful little town will be nothing by the dawn's light._

The frail little humans were running along the wooden docks, some of them in the water, trying to swim away from him. He chuckled, letting his disgust for them fuel his hatred, letting fly with another burst of fire. Fire that turned the lake into steam, and caused a nearby spindly house to burst into flames.

_Weak, pathetic little humans and their little wooden town. Mine, to do with as I please…_

* * *

Fíli heard a step behind him as Bard loaded the wind lance with the black arrow. "Hurry!" he shouted, even as he turned, dagger at the ready.

He needn't have worried. It was another guard, poised to strike, but the dragon's fiery breath so close to them, burning the town square, had frightened him so badly he was momentarily frozen. The look that crossed his face made Fíli think of how his might look if he had just realized Kee was missing.

"Hanna!" the guard shouted, then ran off.

Fíli blinked, shrugged, and turned back to Bard, hoping the man found Hanna, whoever she was. The archer was tracking the dragon by his glowing belly, readying his shot. Fíli stayed quiet; remembering how Kíli got when he was aiming—Fíli had interrupted him once and gotten such a thorough tongue-lashing that he never did it again. The memory would've made him grin, had it not been for the gigantic beast heading straight for them, its maw gaping, fire gathering at the back of its throat.

Bard breathed. Released.

The black arrow hissed out of the wind lance. Fíli held his breath.

One moment.

Two.

An unearthly shriek rent the air, and this time Fíli _did_ cover his ears.

The black arrow had found its mark.

* * *

Pain exploded under his left wing, into his chest, pierced his heart.

_No._

_No...how dare they? How **could** they? It was **one** scale he was missing-the shot was impossible in broad daylight with a stationary target; much less at night, and with a target as quick as him! _

He screamed his rage and agony. _Filthy pathetic humans!_

* * *

Ryn heard the dragon's death knell even underwater. She looked up, feeling oddly confused and…almost drugged. She pushed for the surface, needing air, but her arms and legs felt heavy and everything _burned._

_Come on, to the surface, Ryn. _

Her face broke above the water, and she gasped, the night air cool on her face.

But the noise, Mahal, the _noise_ was incredible. The dragon was shrieking, letting fire loose spastically, people were screaming close to her and far away, the town was burning, things collapsing… The dragon was going to fall out of the sky any moment; she could tell by the way it was thrashing in the air.

It hurt her eyes to look too long, so she turned, fixed her gaze firmly on the shore, and swam, letting her head duck beneath the surface whenever she wasn't inhaling. She felt exhausted and wished her nerve endings would stop screaming with every beat of her heart.

_Swim, kick, pull….come on, you have to do this…_

* * *

Fíli found himself kneeling on the shaking tower, being pulled upright by Bard.

"Come on, lad!" the bargeman shouted. "We have to get away!"

And they were running across the tops of the buildings again, the dragon threatening to crush them any second; but they kept their eyes forward, taking to the docks again when the buildings were too damaged or burned to run across.

Fíli heard a crunch, like breaking wood, behind him; followed by Bard's voice crying out in pain. He skidded to a halt and turned back, eyes wide with fear.

The dock had broken under Bard's foot, and it was buried up to his calf in splintered wood. "Fíli, run!" Bard shouted. "I'll catch up, just run!"

The dwarf prince ran, as ordered, but toward the bargeman, wincing at the blood from the pieces of dock that lacerated Bard's leg. Praying Ryn would forgive him for such a blatant misuse of her dagger, Fíli hacked carefully at the sharp edges, widening the hole so Bard could get his foot out. It took only a few moments, during which time Bard gave him quite the lecture about coming back for him, but Fíli wasn't really listening.

He pulled Bard's leg free and the man cried out in agony.

"Can you walk still?" Fíli asked hurriedly. Bard nodded, lips tight. Fíli threw the man's arm around his shoulders and continued the way they'd been going. The edge of the town was in sight now; they were nearly there….if Smaug would just stay in the air for another minute….

Suddenly, everything seemed to explode at once. A giant tail missed Fíli's head by a hair, the dock collapsed entirely, and he and Bard went flying. There was still screaming, the cracking of wood as it burned and collapsed beneath the weight of the dying dragon, and the hiss of steam as the lake quenched the powerful dragon fire in Smaug's belly. Fíli hit the water a moment later, struggling for the surface as soon as the water closed in over his head.

He _hated_ swimming.

As soon as he could breathe again, he cast about for his companion. Bard was not far away, but limp and not really making any attempt to swim.

Fíli swam to him, grabbed him by the collar, and paddled over to an overturned boat. Or what was left of one, anyhow. He threw Bard's torso over the wood and held on, paddling with his feet to try and escape the town as it crashed into the lake entirely.

_Kick, Fíli, keep kicking._

* * *

Kíli sat down hard on the cold ground.

The town was _gone_. He had no idea if Ryn and Fíli had survived. Or Bard.

_How could they have survived something like that?_

Bofur was squeezing his arm, other arm fastened tight around little Tilda, who was crying softly. Kíli absently reached for Bain and Sigrid, still stunned, and they huddled close to him.

They sat there until the screams and shouts of survivors punched through their numb ears and reached their brains.

"There are people alive out there," Sigrid croaked, her voice wrecked by tears and smoke and steam.

"Aye," Bofur remarked. "We ought to go see if we can help."

Kíli nodded, pulling Bain up gently, though Tilda was still holding tightly to Bofur. Slowly they made their way out of the forest and onto the riverbank.

People were dragging themselves out of the water, covered in burns, lacerations, broken bones, splintered pieces of wood….Kíli suppressed a shudder.

No one would be resting this night.

"Sigrid, gather some herbs from the forest if you can. Bain, find something we can use for bandages. Bofur…try to find other children, and let Tilda help watch over them until we can get them back with their parents," Kíli ordered. He raised his voice.

"If you are injured, come this way!"

* * *

_hír vuin—_"my lord"

_Berio ven Eru—_"Eru save us."

_Legolas, noro!—_"Legolas, run!"


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: This chapter will probably not be very easy to read—it's quite horrific in places; but then, these people just suffered through the small-scale equivalent of Hurricane Katrina, so try to understand that I wanted to capture that as much as possible without getting too graphic or awful.

Also, a quick note about Ryn's healing abilities—as explained in the last chapter, usually the only thing it does is apply energy to that which would heal anyway, given enough time, speeding healing to the point where it is observable. In the case of dragon-fire burns, the power intrinsic in the Eiri—bestowed upon them by Estë herself—is invoked, and it requires a lot more energy, from Ryn and her surroundings.

Leave a review if you feel inclined, I love hearing your perspectives on the story! Thanks to all of you who read and follow; this story wouldn't be what it is without you! Tons of hugs and homemade cookies to summerald for her assistance with this chapter!

* * *

Kíli worked hard through the night, as did the others, though he forced Bain and Sigrid to get some sleep in the wee hours of the morning. He was backed, surprisingly, by Sigrid's friend Mik, a handsome, tall lad who had thrown himself into the work wholeheartedly and with an optimism that made the entire situation seem less horrifying. Watching the two together—serious, efficient Sigrid and amiable, laid-back Mik—he was strongly reminded of him and Ryn; which made his heart simultaneously leap and ache.

Was she even alive? She would have come back by now, would she not?

But there wasn't really much time to think; the situation was actually quite dire. Of those who had managed to get to shore at this point (about an hour before dawn), he hadn't seen _one _that wasn't somehow wounded, and of those, the majority had dragon fire burns. He had seen the scars of dragon-fire burns—some of the old warriors in Ered Luin had them, from when Erebor was taken by Smaug the first time—he knew they never healed properly, but he'd never seen the actual burns themselves. They were horrific; they blistered quickly, but burst a few hours later, leaving massive pits in whatever tissue they'd managed to touch; they infected easily and deeply. And he'd never expected them to look and smell so appalling—seeping wounds with black edges that ran far deeper than a regular burn would, seemingly with an aim to kill. Two had succumbed to them already, because they dehydrated a person too quickly and the burns penetrated deep into the muscle—the two who had died had been burned on their chests, and the damage had reached their heart and lungs.

Kíli shuddered. He had seen death before, but that? That had been _horrible_.

He really wished his uncle were here. Or Dwalin. Bofur was his dear friend, but he was a miner and a toymaker, not a warrior. Kíli needed a _warrior_ right now, to help him sort out why this—why seeing little children scream for their parents and being unable to do anything because they were dead or missing; why hearing a mother's agonized cry of childbirth, only to find out later she died moments after her baby; why seeing the dragon fire burns afflict so many of these townspeople who cared nothing of him or his kin—was so dreadfully traumatizing.

But instead, _he_ was the warrior, the one Sigrid and Bain and many of the Laketowners were running to, looking for guidance and answers.

And it was absolutely terrifying.

* * *

_Mahal's bloody hell, ow._

Ryn woke, cold and in more pain than she could ever remember being in her life. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. She was lying on her belly on a sandy bank, half in the water-that explained why she was so cold-and her head ached fit to burst.

But it was the sight of her skin that terrified her. The dim light of early morning revealed she was covered in blotchy grayish burns, all over the front of her body. Her arms were twisted and bloated, blistered, and black in places-except the right one, which was a horrifying mess of shredded tissue where she had evidently had a run in with a piece of debris. The sight of it had her struggling not to vomit-she couldn't afford to, she was already horribly parched and the lake water wasn't safe to drink without purifying first. She didn't even want to_ think_ what her face or torso looked like.

She tried to stand, but fell again, moaning as the burns on her legs scraped the fine gravel. She fell into her Sight, finding life everywhere-the forest was teeming with it-trying to draw from the nearby plants, but she was too weak. She needed to be closer.

Dry sobs escaping her chest from the agony, she pulled herself out of the water and began crawling.

_Valar, it hurts...it hurts so much..._

She was weak and horribly tired; she fell several times. After the fourth time, she collapsed where she was and lay there.

_Mahal, I can't do it._

Unbidden, her thoughts drifted to Kíli—his instinctive kindness, his courage, the way he touched her fingers and sent her that secret smile reserved only for her. She whimpered and raised her head again. Fifty more feet.

_Kíli, Fíli, Bilbo…_

She pulled herself forward by her arms, forcing herself to breathe; repeating their names to herself like some sort of mantra, shoring up her will against the agony. It took what seemed an eternity, but finally she reached the tree, and she laid her blistered palm against the rough elm bark. Gathering her focus, she accessed her magic again. Energy flowed from the tree into her, the Eiri magic making quick work of the dragon-fire burns that covered her body, and her mutilated arm. She cried when she felt the energy stutter and stop-she had killed the tree-but moved her focus to the next one, strong enough now to draw its energy without touching it.

It took most of the energy of six mighty elms before she was healed entirely. The girl shuddered, forcing herself to not drain the rest to the point where they died, hating the cost; but at least now she could walk.

She sat up, leaning against the dry trunk and trying to get her bearings. Somehow she had ended up on the eastern bank of the Long Lake-about a mile from where she could see the rest of the survivors bustling about on the south shore. She stood and dusted herself off-her clothes were in tatters, her modesty barely preserved by her leather corset and torn leggings-and began walking.

On the lake itself, the remains of the town still smoked, a dilapidated mess of wood and dragon-flesh and charred docks. Ryn shook her head, still disbelieving that Bard had managed the shot at all, wondering how anyone had managed to survive such destruction. Her stomach twisted at the thought of Fíli and Bard, still in town when the dragon died.

Had they made it? She couldn't bear to hope.

* * *

_Just keep kicking...don't...stop kicking...got to get..to-to shore..._

Fíli's eyes opened slowly, blinking at the harsh sun as it slivered over the horizon. He was surprised to find he wasn't kicking at all; water lapped around his chest, he held tightly to the half-sunken boat he'd maneuvered Bard into, but his legs were leaden and not moving.

_Rukhsul,_ he didn't remember blacking out!

He checked on Bard: the man was still unconscious, a large lump on the side of his head. His leg looked horrific, what with lacerations around the ankle and several large splinters-some as big around as a quill-protruding from his skin. The ankle was swollen and disfigured, and it occurred to Fíli there might have been some damage to the bone as well. For the first time, he also noticed a metal stake of some sort that had lodged itself in Bard's right shoulder; he winced at the sight.

The man needed help_, now_.

He cursed his own weakness-Bard should've been taken to shore and treated last night, not spent the night floating exposed on a glorified piece of driftwood. Furiously, he began kicking again, ignoring the pain in his legs and arms. He could see people bustling about on the nearby shore, tendrils of smoke wafting from campfires just behind the tree line, shouts and calls as the Laketowners began searching for their loved ones with the coming daylight.

Someone caught sight of him, and the shouting increased as he called his companions over to help Fíli ashore, pulling along the dilapidated boat Bard rested in. The young man hauled Fíli up by the shoulders when his legs, used to the water now, collapsed under his weight as he tried to stand. The ones with him gasped.

"It's that other dwarf! And he's got Bard with him!"

"Get Sig!" one of the young ones called to a small boy, who took off running in the direction of the trees, while a couple of the larger men lifted Bard and carried him off. Fíli was loath to let the dragon-slayer—for that was what the humble bargeman now was, and descendant of the Lord of Dale, no less—out of his sight, but felt a strong hand on his shoulder when he tried to stumble after Bard. It was the lad who'd helped him out of the lake. "Now, Master Dwarf, you'll do well to hold on just a few more minutes. Your brother is here, he'll want to see to you; and I don't care what the Master says, your kin have acquitted themselves quite honorably over the last twelve hours."

"Kíli..." he murmured weakly.

"That's right, your brother, Kíli. He told us to fetch him quick-like if we saw his golden-haired counterpart. And here you are!" The boy sounded almost cheerful.

"Who...who are you?"

"Ah, well now. My name's Mik, son of Haresh. Tis a pleasure to meet you, Sir Fíli."

Fíli wanted to chuckle, but everything hurt too much.

"Fee!" he heard a familiar voice shout, and his heart was suddenly in his throat.

_Nadadith..._

He struggled to sit up, despite the pounding in his head, and Mik helped him. Kíli slid to his knees in the sand, throwing his arms around his brother, trembling.

"Kee..." he mumbled weakly. "Kee, Bard is bad off, he needs Ryn now. Have you seen her?"

Kíli pulled back, shook his head, attempting to hide the fear in his eyes. "I'd rather hoped she'd found you."

"No, it was just the two of us after the dragon..." he suppressed a shudder. Kíli hugged him again. "All right, _nadad_, it's all right. She'll turn up. Probably smack us both upside the head for worrying." He threw Fíli's arm over his shoulder and lifted him; Mik jumped to Fíli's other side to help, and Kíli regarded him for a moment, then gave him a nod of thanks.

* * *

Ryn jogged into the makeshift camp, casting her eyes about for any familiar face. She saw debris washing ashore, wounded ones being tended, young ones huddling together in a group, supervised by…

"Bofur!" she shouted, a smile splitting her face in spite of the carnage. He returned the smile and ran to her, grasping her forearms happily. "Lady Deorynn! It is such a pleasure to see you made it through!" His smile faltered. "You'd best find Fíli and Bard quick; Bard's going to need your magic."

"Where?"

"Over there," he pointed to where a large group of people were set up in the trees. Ryn didn't wait to be told twice. She ran that direction, but stopped with a gasp as soon as she reached what looked to be the town's temporary medical area.

There were more people wounded than not, and the wounds were particularly horrifying. Ryn looked around with dismay; broken bones, badly bandaged lacerations, punctures, and bits of debris embedded in the survivors, but the worst were the burns.

Too many of them looked exactly like she had early that morning.

Ryn's heart sunk in dismay. How was she supposed to heal them without destroying the entire forest?

But Fíli's golden head caught her eye, standing over Bard lying on a blanket at the foot of an oak, unconscious.

"Fíli!" she shouted. He looked up, and his eyes lit briefly as she neared. He reached up and clasped her hand; he looked exhausted.

"Ryn, thank Mahal. Kíli and I've been worried sick."

"Where is he?"

"Helping with a rescue in the ruins of the town—a stuck child, I think. Can you help Bard?"

Tuning out her worry—rescues could be as dangerous as the original incident—she knelt beside the bargeman. She did a cursory examination—broken, shredded ankle; embedded metal stake; concussion.

"Yes," she murmured, "I can help him."

"What do you need?"

"Only a bandage to soak up the blood when I remove the stake, please. I'll start on his concussion first; that's the most dangerous wound he has."

Fíli stood slowly and limped away.

_Examine Fíli next,_ she made a mental note, then went to work on Bard.

Working carefully, she repaired the damage to his skull and eased the bruising in his brain beneath. He started awake at that, gasping and then moaning at the pain the rest of his body was in.

"Hush," she murmured. "I'm going to fix that, Bard, just lie still."

He nodded, and she tackled his ankle next. It was simpler than his concussion—head wounds were tricky things—and the shoulder was relatively easy too, since the stake hadn't gone through any organs. Even still, it took much of the strength of several nearby trees to manage it. Ryn sighed; she still had a lot of work to do on the other townspeople. Bard went to get up, and she pushed him back firmly.

"Not until you've slept a while."

He growled at her. "I must see my children!"

Fíli spoke up. "Bard, they're fine, I've seen them all myself. Bain and Sigrid are helping with the wounded, Tilda is assisting Bofur caring for the children."

The bargeman seemed relieved, but would not relax. Ryn glared at him. "You will see them soon, Master Archer, but if you do not rest and regain some of your own strength, my healing will have been in vain. You had a severe brain injury, and while the worst is over, you still need to sleep to heal the rest of the way. Do not argue with me, sir."

Bard paused, then gave in, laying back and closing his eyes. He was asleep almost immediately.

Ryn looked around, continuing her earlier line of thought. She was going to have to triage the townspeople and only heal the worst off. There just wasn't enough energy to bring everyone back to complete health.

Fíli caught her sigh. "What's wrong, Ryn?"

She looked back at him. "There's too much damage; I can't heal everything." She shook her head. "But I will do what I can. You're not to worry about it. I need you to rest now too, Fíli, you look entirely done in."

He blinked at her. "I was…there's so much work needs doing."

"Yes, and you're no use to anyone this exhausted. Rest, then work."

It was telling that Fíli gave her no more trouble than that. He lay down beside Bard, who was also resting, and closed his eyes. She smiled and turned her attention to the others. Catching the arm of a lass nearby carrying a pot of steaming water, she asked, "I am a healer; who's in charge here?" The girl pointed to a man kneeling beside a boy with a broken arm.

She approached him. "Sir?"

He waved her off. "If you're looking for someone in partic'lar, you need to see Tara, over there; she's keeping a list of survivors," he pointed to her left, "but I can't help you. I've too many to take care of right now."

"Sir, you don't understand; I'm a healer."

The man looked up at her, hazel eyes tired. "Are you, now? Well then grab a patient and start working."

"Please, tell me which of these people is the closest to death?"

The man pointed to the south end of the clearing. "The worst ones'r kept over there. Mostly dragon-fire burns, tho' there are some right awful other inj'ries too. We're just trying to keep them comfortable; already lost a few to the burns, there's nothin' we can do for 'em."

Ryn took a deep breath. "I can. I have the magic of the Eiri."

The man scoffed. "Sure ya do, lass."

Ryn wanted to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, she headed to where the burn victims lay.

_Don't tell them; show them._

* * *

"Lift that beam higher!" Kíli shouted to the man on his left.

"I'm trying, lad, it's stuck on something!"

Kíli strained his reach toward the little lassie stuck in the void between the splintered pieces of wood. She was not crying anymore, and he was fairly certain she had lost consciousness.

_Hang on, little one, we're coming for you._

With several grunts of effort, the beam moved a few inches higher. Not hesitating, Kíli shoved his torso into the void and wrapped his arms around the little girl, pulling her out before the men lost their grip or something shifted.

"Got her!" he shouted as he surfaced, and the men let go with sighs of relief.

The little girl had blood on her face and in her straw-colored hair. She weighed next to nothing, still small even measured against a dwarf. She held a small doll limply to her chest.

She wasn't breathing.

"Come on, lass, don't do this!" he choked. The men staggered into the boat, headed for the shore. It would only take a few minutes to get there, thank Mahal, but Kíli wasn't sure it would matter.

_She can't die, please no, she's so small…._

Kíli looked, trying to determine what could be keeping her from breathing. She had no outward injuries that he could see, just a lot of bruising and swelling in her torso on one side. He remembered Oin talking about that at one point—dwarrows receiving a rough blow to the belly or side, seeming fine and simply bruised, until they died in their beds that night. He said it was because something was damaged inside, and they were bleeding internally…

_Oh lass._

They had reached the shore, and he splashed out onto the sandy bank, shouting for a healer. One came running, an old woman with white wispy hair and blue eyes.

"What have we here?"

"She's not breathing," he panted. "I think she's bleeding internally."

The old woman pointed toward the clearing. "Get her to the lassie, Deorynn. She's over there."

_Ryn!_

He saw her kneeling over a woman, her face scrunched in concentration. He shouted her name, but there was no time to greet her.

"She's bleeding internally, can you help her?"

Ryn looked at the little girl, running practiced hands over her swollen belly. "You're right, she bled internally; but Kíli…" she faltered, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "She is gone already. There's no life left in her for me to…I can't fix this."

_No. _

"No," he whispered. "No, Ryn, we spent an hour trying to get to her, she was just talking to me a little while ago…"

"I'm sorry, Kili."

"No! You have to fix her, Ryn, she can't…." he petered off, his voice lowering to barely a whisper. "Her name was Kit. She was only eight summers old."

_She was too young._

"Kit?! My Kittie!" a woman ran over, panicking. Kíli stood back, knowing better than to get between a mother and her offspring, dead or alive. Ryn stayed, breaking the news to the mother with a hand on her shoulder. The woman screamed her grief into her daughter's chest, and Ryn looked drained and tired. The woman was led off by her friends and kin, along with the little girl's body, and Kíli just stood there, tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks.

He and Ryn regarded each other for a moment; then she came to him, nearly falling into his arms. He held tightly to her, beyond grateful she was alive and sobbing against his shoulder.

"There's too much," she whimpered. "Kíli, I can't help them all…"

He squeezed, just holding her, too grief-stricken to even manage any words that might help.

They stood there, drawing strength and comfort from one another for a little while, until someone's cry for help pulled her away to heal again.

* * *

Legolas placed Tauriel gently on the ground, breathing hard. He had been pushing himself for nigh on twelve hours now, running fast and hard while still carrying her—and even elves needed a break now and then.

"Are you all right, _mellon nin_?" she murmured as he knelt beside her, chest heaving. He nodded. "I just need a few moments. We cannot rest long."

She squeezed his arm. "You must not press yourself too hard, or we'll not get there at all."

"Tauriel, we don't yet know the extent of the damage to Laketown." His ice-blue eyes met her green ones. "They could be sleeping under the stars, with no medicine or provisions. We must hurry."

She nodded. "I know."

Her thoughts turned to her friend, Miriel….had she survived? Was she even now helping heal those in Laketown who were injured? Or was she lying somewhere languishing on the edge of life herself? What of the archer she had healed, and his golden haired brother, and the dwarf with that ridiculous hat?

She suppressed a shudder. Legolas was pushing the limits of his body—his strength was considerable, but not infinite. She felt absently at her swollen ankle, willing it to heal; though she knew it would be weeks before she could walk on it, without Miriel's help. She had half a mind to tell Legolas to leave her behind and hasten to his father's halls to plead for the men of Laketown; but she knew he'd sooner cut off his own arm, so didn't bother.

By the Valar, she despised being so helpless!

True to his word, Legolas lifted her slight form a few minutes later and bounded off again, holding her carefully.

_Be careful, sadron_, she willed him.

* * *

Bard awoke to his daughter shaking him urgently.

"Da! Da, please wake up, we need you!"

He opened his eyes and sat up groggily. "Sigrid?"

"Da! The Master showed up, and he's trying for trouble again. The dwarves are in danger!"

_Again?_

He could hardly be angry with them, though; Valar knew he was in trouble with the Master enough himself. He pulled himself to his feet, surprised at how well he felt. He hugged Sigrid's shoulders as he walked toward the small fire on the shore of the lake—the sun had just set, the light failing fast.

"Sigrid, my sweet," he murmured into her hair. "I am so glad you're all right." She returned the hug. "We were so afraid for you, da. You're a hero now, did you know?"

He smiled at her bright eyes. "What?"

"For killing Smaug. They're calling you the Dragon-Slayer and demanding you be the new Master of Laketown."

Bard laughed aloud. "The Master must be thrilled about that."

Sigrid grinned. "Oh, he is."

They reached the fire a moment later, listening quietly to the shouting between the two sides of this argument—one side asserting the dwarves had brought the dragon on them, and so the members of their party that remained in Laketown's midst ought to be killed or expelled from the camp; the other side shouting that the dwarves had saved many of them, had worked alongside them to salvage what they could from the ruined town, and the lady-dwarf had saved many lives that afternoon—the Master standing at the head of everything, looking far too smug for Bard's liking. The people fell silent as they saw him, until someone shouted, "The Dragon-Slayer lives!"

The survivors cheered, some of them slapping him on the back. Bard smiled and raised his hands for quiet. They acquiesced immediately.

"My friends!" he began. "We can all agree that the last twenty-four hours have been harrowing and terrible for all of us. Many of us have lost kin; we've _all_ lost friends." A couple of sobs could be heard from the otherwise-silent crowd. Bard nodded to them. "But we must not turn on those who have been our allies in the battle to survive today. My own life was preserved by the dwarf Fíli when he pulled me from the water and got me to shore; and Lady Deorynn healed my injuries. The dwarf Kíli has spent all day helping you pull your families from the wreckage of our town, and Bofur has cared for our children until they can be re-united with their parents. My friends, let us not, in our fear and grief, do that which we would later regret. Let us accept these four as our friends, and treat them as such!"

A man piped up from the crowd, "I was nearly dead when that lassie healed me! She has magic, she has!"

"Yes," a woman agreed. "She saved my Berian's life, too!"

Shouts of assent rose up, and even those who remained skeptical of the dwarves were inclined to trust the Dragon-Slayer—one of their own, a man who had proven over and again that he was on the side of the people. They trusted that.

Bard smiled.

* * *

The Master observed from his place before the fire, grumpily. He had no love for the man speaking on behalf of the dwarves, but he knew he would need Bard as an ally if he intended to keep his position as leader amongst the people—especially now that Bard was a local hero.

Perhaps Bard was right, anyhow; the dwarves had proven to be useful in the wake of the destruction of their town. And that lass, she did have magic indeed; and he couldn't afford to make an enemy of the likes of her. She was worth more than the others by far, and was as innocent as a lamb. Yes, he definitely needed _her; _and her complete lack of guile would make her easy to manipulate.

For now, it was time to play nice with the dwarves.

"The Dragon-Slayer speaks the truth, my people!" he called over the nods of those listening. "I must stand corrected; to our valiant friends the dwarves, I give my hearty thanks, and request that you remain among us, so that we may continue to partake of your kindnesses!"

They looked at one another, and the one with the odd hat stepped forward to answer. "Sir, we would be happy to remain with you for now."

The cheers of the people echoed out over the lake and the charred remains of Laketown as everyone dispersed, headed back to their places in the small camp.

_For now. _

* * *

_Sadron_—"Loyal one"

Endnote: The inspiration for Kili and Ryn's reunion was AlytheKitten's drawing "It Was All About Us", which you can find on my "My Hobbit AU!" board on Pinterest (River Steele on Pinterest), if you care to have a look.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: FLUFF ALERT! Hooray! Also, Thranduil shows up again, and the Master is given a truly awful name, since he wasn't given one in the novel—I legit picked the worst one I could find and named him that. I think we can all agree he deserves it.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

* * *

Kíli found Ryn sitting amongst the trees just outside of camp late the next afternoon. Her eyes were closed, though she sat upright, and he turned to leave her.

"Don't go." Her voice was small.

He came and sat beside her, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge with his, and smiling when she looked at him curiously. Instead of smiling back, though, she sighed and leaned into him, so he wrapped his arm around her and kissed her hair. "Are you all right?"

She paused, and shook her head. "Not really, no."

"What's wrong?"

She looked at him. "_Everything_ about this situation is wrong, Kíli. I can't heal all these people; they're in so much pain, and my magic takes too long to harness properly-I'm getting better at it, but we've already lost some because I just couldn't reach them in time, and others because it takes so much energy from the surrounding plant and wildlife that there's just not enough to go around. I'm so tired, and I can't choose which ones to save...it's not my place and I hate having the power to do it! That mother, yesterday? Of the little girl you pulled from the wreckage? What if she was me, Kíli? What if it was my child that died and a Master Healer did nothing?! I would never forgive them..." she was crying in earnest now, and Kíli held her tightly, rocking gently. "I can't forgive myself."

"Sweetheart," Kíli whispered when he was certain she was done talking. "There is nothing to forgive. You cannot heal everyone."

She shuddered in his arms. "I know that! But I still_….can't_ accept it. I used to be so good at accepting things—what I am, my isolation, my inability to save everyone, my position in society-and I can't seem to find that anymore. It's like..." she took a shuddering breath, gathering her thoughts. "It's like joining this Company has forced open my heart again, and I'm beginning to remember why I closed it off so harshly in the first place."

Kíli ached for her. "Then let me remind you why you opened it back up, my sweet Ryn. Here, turn around." He maneuvered her so she was sitting between his knees, back to him as he leaned on a tree, and began to pull the overused pins out of her tightly knotted hairstyle.

He let down her hair gently; still damp from her wash that morning, running his fingers through it and smiling at the way she relaxed visibly in response. "You opened your heart to Bilbo because he is a singularly unique hobbit with a reserve of courage none of us suspected," he murmured softly, stroking a hand lightly down her neck before gathering a piece of hair just behind her left ear, tracing the swirling birthmark behind it gently with one finger. She shivered, the air in her lungs escaping in a rush. "You opened your heart to Fíli because he is brave and kind and has helped teach you skills to survive alone, should you ever need to again." He split the hair into three sections, sweeping the rest over her shoulder; and she tilted her head to give him better access. Kíli suppressed a shiver of his own at the gesture.

_Durin's Beard, Ryn, you make me want to kiss you…_

He continued, voice low and soft. "You opened your heart to Ori because he is entirely innocent and wanted so much to learn everything you could teach him. Oin, because he is a healer like you; and while he took a bit of convincing, has accepted you as a peer. Dwalin refused to accept anything less than your best. Balin gave freely of his wisdom. Thorin offered you a place to call home. Bofur made you laugh and reminded you how to sing." He paused, having trouble keeping his thoughts together as her lightly minty scent reached him-recognizable even through the smoky smell that clung to everything here-and he caught sight of the sliver of her shoulder that peeked through her torn tunic. He bit back the temptation to kiss it and kept braiding, finishing the small plait. He tied it off with a leather thong—it should've been beads, beads _he_ made for her; those would be appropriate for this type of braid, but he had none.

"And you?" she whispered, shifting closer to him. "Why did I open my heart to you?"

He dipped his head to lay his lips on the soft skin of her shoulder as he swept her hair around to the other side. She gasped, and he moved, kissing a trail to the nape of her neck before pulling away and portioning off another piece identical to the first, only behind her right ear.

"Because I gave you mine," he answered. They sat in silence as he wove the second braid skillfully, tying it off as well and covering both of them with the curtain of her chestnut waves. She turned to him on her knees, laid a hand on his cheek.

"Mahal only knows what I did to deserve such a one," she whispered, brushing her lips against his softly, pulling back before he was ready. "But I don't understand: isn't there usually only one courtship braid?"

He smiled. "Usually. Double braids are a tradition of Durin's Line, and even among us, they're rare."

"Why did you use them, then?" she nuzzled his nose.

"Because you are the rarest of treasures, idúzhib-më," he answered softly. "The first symbolizes that you are spoken for, that I hold your heart. The second says that you hold mine just as completely."

The smile she gave him could have outshone the moon. "And the placement? Courtship braids are most often worn where they are most visible."

"Unless one of the intended is of the royal line; in which case it's best for a courtship to remain secret until engagement can be announced to the Court and the people, to protect the potential mate from being exploited or otherwise used as a pawn while the relationship is still budding. It is a protection for both of them," Kíli answered as he fingered the braid, practically invisible behind her ear and under the soft brown waves. She smiled as he murmured a string of Khuzdul endearments against her jaw, nuzzling gently into her soft skin. "Ryn, my beautiful princess..."

"I am no princess," she whispered, shivering. "I am barely a peasant. I have nothing, was born of an illegitimate union..."

"You have a heart of purest gold," he interrupted. "Eyes of peridot, lips like rubies. Your healing gift makes you desirable to others; but your strength and courage made me desire you long before we knew of the blood in your veins." He looked her in the eye, cupping her cheek softly. "And you are most beloved of a Prince."

She leaned into his hand, and he wrapped his arms round her. They sat there, holding one another, until the sun began to set and they heard Fíli stomping around, calling their names and threatening dire consequences if he found them out here fooling around, because he'd been so worried and didn't they know everyone was looking for them?

They smiled at one another and walked back to meet him.

* * *

It was early the next morning when the shouts rang out from the camp watch. Ryn woke with a start, giving a hand up to Fíli and Kíli, who had woken as suddenly as she had, as she stumbled out of her bedroll and grabbed her belt of throwing knives and daggers.

She reflected later that it was a good thing it was elves and not orcs, because with most of the inhabitants of the camp being wounded or suffering from exhaustion and having not eaten properly in three days, they wouldn't have lasted long against an attack, even from a _small_ party of orcs.

Fortunately, it was a rather large party of elves, bearing provisions and medicines and supplies for shelters. The shouts of alarm turned to shouts of joy; and by the time the elves, led by Thranduil himself, had reached the tent where the Master was staying—the only tent in their little settlement—a small crowd had gathered.

Thranduil saw Ryn, flanked by Fíli, Kíli, and Bofur; one delicate eyebrow arched elegantly, but he gave no other sign of recognition as the Master strutted out of his tent, looking rather more self-important than anyone in his state had a right to. He bowed pompously, and Thranduil nodded once.

"Honored Sallyn, Master of Laketown, we in the Woodland Realm heard of the death of the Dragon three nights ago," Thranduil spoke clearly, "and have come to offer our assistance to your displaced people. We bring food, clean water, and medicine; as well as a group of healers to assist in the treatment of your wounded."

Ryn could have cried, she was so relieved. Magic or no, she and the town healers could not care properly for all these people alone; the Healers of the Elves were renowned and could help in ways Men never could. Not to mention all the healing in the world wouldn't help a starving man—the provisions were invaluable. The Master seemed to think so, too, as he bowed again and replied with buoyancy unseemly for the situation, "We thank and welcome you most heartily!" A few people cheered, but most of them just breathed sighs of relief and followed the dispersing elves timidly.

Ryn spoke with the Healers first, giving them a cursory report of the state of things, before seeking out The King of the Woodland Realm himself, just finished speaking with the Master quietly. She approached slowly, curtseyed respectfully and waited for him to bow his head before rising.

"King Thranduil," she said, struggling to keep the relief out of her voice—this was the manipulative ruler who threw her friends in prison simply for trying to take their home back from a Dragon.

"My Lady Miriel," he responded coolly. "You left before we could finish your training."

_A tactful way to accuse me of not fulfilling my end of the bargain._

"I was coming back," she responded. "But regardless, I can heal you right now." Another eyebrow arched—he nearly looked surprised now. She shook her head, "I am loath to leave any under the curse of dragon fire longer than is necessary, especially now that I've seen, healed, and…" she paused, "…._experienced_ it firsthand."

Thranduil blinked, and after a moment, placed a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I never wished that for you."

She shook her head. "Of course you didn't. But it matters not, now. Let me heal you."

"I'll not be relieved of this burden before my people," Thranduil answered. "There are three others with the same injuries that will be healed first."

Ryn nodded. "Very well. Are they here?"

"Two of them are."

She looked up. "And the other?"

"The third is safe within our Halls," Thranduil stated, almost fiercely. Ryn looked at him before asking carefully, "Will you bring him here?"

"Her."

"Sorry?"

"I will have _her_ sent for," Thranduil said. Ryn's eyes widened. "An elleth?"

He nodded, once. "A youngling, barely full grown. Her mother was in Dale the day Smaug took the Mountain, heavy with child. She was badly burned in many places, including her belly. As you know, the burns burrow into the skin and muscle…"

"Please, stop." Ryn shuddered. "I think I understand. How did she survive?"

"We induced labor in her mother, who died moments after her birth. It took all our skill to keep the babe alive long enough that she would survive. She is horribly scarred, but lives happily among the books and gardens of my Halls," Thranduil sighed. "It will be good to see her relieved of the pain she has borne all her life."

Ryn nodded. "I will help in any way I can."

To her absolute shock, a tear rolled down his cheek. "Thank you."

* * *

Legolas and Tauriel reached the north end of the Long Lake that midday, the Prince breathing a sigh of relief as he set her down to rest for another quick rest.

Tauriel looked across the lake, doing her best to see what was left of Esgaroth. Her eyes could make out only a pile of rubble and the tiny figures of people milling about on the shore.

"Mellon nin," she said softly, and Legolas knelt beside her.

"Are you well?"

"Yes…tell me what you see across the lake?"

He stood and strode a few paces forward, squinting slightly as he looked. A slow smile spread over his face, and Tauriel's heart stuttered.

_I knew it._

"Elves!" Legolas nearly shouted. "Tauriel, Father sent help!"

She laughed. "That is excellent news!" He lifted her and began running again, energized and elated by his discovery, both more eager than ever to reach the ruins of Esgaroth.

They arrived less than an hour later, generating a bit of hubbub as elves recognized them and townspeople gawked at them. One of the dwarves—the one Tauriel had healed—disappeared into the trees. Tauriel was thrilled to see him up and about, appearing quite healthy. He returned seconds later, dragging Miriel in tow. Tauriel laughed when she saw her friend's eyes go round.

"Tauriel!" she cried, kneeling beside the Elf Captain. "What happened to your leg?"

"I had a run in with the chief of the orc party we met a few nights ago."

Miriel growled. "Did you make him pay?"

"Quite. He is a pile of ashes at the foot of the Mountain."

Legolas laughed his delight, "She was brilliant, my lady, you should have seen her beat him, even on one leg!" Tauriel shushed him and smiled down at the girl.

"What of your friends, are they well?"

Miriel grinned. "They are, all of them; partly thanks to you."

"How did you all survive the dragon?" Tauriel asked softly, worry flitting over her face. "I was concerned for you." Miriel hugged her round the shoulders. "It was horrible, but we made it. Bard—the man over there talking to Fíli—is a descendent of Girion, Lord of Dale; he inherited the last of the black arrows."

Tauriel's eyes widened. "Girion's descendants yet live?"

The girl nodded eagerly. "They do indeed. And Bard is the one who slew Smaug—his aim, his arrow."

"Remarkable."

"Isn't it?"

* * *

Ryn spent the rest of the afternoon assisting the Healers, trying not to use falancurú, so as to let the immediate forest rest in preparation for healing the dragon-fire burns of Thranduil and his folk. In spite of that, the elves managed to take their medical situation from grim to hopeful by the time she staggered back to her bedroll at sunset. Kíli, Bofur, and Fíli were all sitting around their tiny fire talking quietly, their faces grim.

"Thranduil and the Master have teamed up," Fíli was saying as she sat heavily beside Kíli. "They're going to send men to demand reparation of Erebor."

Ryn stared. "Are you certain?"

Fíli nodded. "I overheard the guards talking about it while I was washing earlier."

"Do they not have a right to expect repayment?" Bofur asked carefully. "The star-jewels do belong to Thranduil, and Thorin _did_ promise Laketown a share of the spoils."

Fíli shook his head. "Yes, but...to demand it of him...if he takes it the wrong way….this could end badly."

"Uncle is as fair as he is stubborn, brother," Kíli cut in. "I don't think he will withhold what is rightfully theirs; there will be no trouble."

"Nevertheless," Fíli said. "I cannot stay here. I must warn him of their impending arrival, at least."

Ryn shook her head. "How do you plan to get there before they do? Even if you leave tonight; they'll have horses and you have none."

"One person travels at greater speed than a large party: it will take them time to leave tomorrow, I'll have at least twelve hours head start. In addition, I won't be stopping to make camp every night. I'll get there before they do."

Ryn still wasn't so sure, but...it was _his_ land, and the kingdom _he_ would someday inherit in the balance, so she said nothing.

"You should not go alone," Kíli said. "I will come with you."

Fíli shook his head, but at this, Ryn did jump in. "No, Fíli, he's right. You shouldn't go alone. And honestly...I don't trust the Master any further than I can throw him. I cannot yet leave, these people still need me; but it would be better if both Erebor's princes were as far from that man as possible. Kíli is healthy enough to travel at speed; he should go with you."

Bofur nodded. "I agree, lads. Lady Deorynn has a point."

Fíli looked worried, but eventually agreed. "Fee," Kíli grasped his shoulder. "I'm well enough now, even Ryn says so."

Fíli shifted uncomfortably. "Should we tell Bard we're leaving?"

Bofur shook his head. "I vote not. Bard has been good to us, but we're going directly against him now-or so it could be construed."

"Agreed," Kíli answered. "However, if they try to punish the two of you..."

"...just tell them where we're going," Fíli finished. "It's no secret where our loyalty lies, and certainly nothing worth being tortured over."

Ryn scoffed lightly. "These are Men, not orcs, Fíli. They'll not torture us. Especially with Bard around."

He nodded, still skeptical. "Follow us as soon as you can."

* * *

Kíli knelt beside his small pack, stuffing a small blanket into it. A familiar dagger sheath entered his field of vision, and he looked up to see Ryn handing him one of the long knives she usually kept at the small of her back. "Are you sure?" he asked. She nodded and helped him up after he stuffed the knife in his pack.

Kíli squeezed her arm. "I don't like leaving you behind. Not with the Master here, and that devious elf king."

She smiled. "Neither of them are a threat to me, Kíli, Thranduil especially. He, at least, has a sense of honor; unlike the Master-but the Man knows about my power now, and will not want to make me an enemy." She kissed him gently. "Do not fear for me, I will be fine. I can take care of myself, remember? I've been doing it for almost fifty years now, and under harsher conditions. And Bofur is strong and clever; we'll both be fine."

He nodded. "If I thought otherwise, Mahal himself wouldn't be able to drag me away."

She smiled and stroked his stubbled cheek. "I know. Valar go with you, Kíli, and give you both speed and safety. I will miss you."

He pulled gently on her hidden braids as he kissed her once more, then shouldered the small pack. "We will be together again soon."

Fíli smacked her affectionately on the shoulder as he walked by, and he and Kíli pushed the boat off silently, paddling north at a good pace. Bofur and Ryn stood and watched until they could no longer see them.

"They'll be fine," Bofur murmured, almost as if trying to convince himself as well as her.

She squeezed his arm. "They will."

_I hope._


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Oh man, the plot thickens! Enjoy, and feel free to leave a review or PM if you like!

There is a piece of lovely fan art depicting the aftermath of Thranduil's encounter with the dragons of old. It's on my My Hobbit AU! Pinterest Board (pinterest dot com slash blueriversteel), called "After Servants of the North."

* * *

Kíli was pretty certain, after three hours, he could safely say he was downright sick of rowing. The boat was a long one, easier to row than a small boat; and his dwarvish arms were well-suited to the task. But regardless of his _ability_ to row, it was honestly one of the most boring tasks he'd ever done. Especially since Fíli had taken his turn to rest about an hour ago, and it was the middle of the night, so all was dark and quiet. With no immediate pressing concerns, he found his mind wandering.

He thought about many things, not the least of which was those left behind in Ered Luin; his mother, foremost, and also his friends. He wondered if Mother thought they were dead. They had, of course, been unable to send word of their progress since Rivendell, so he would be surprised if she'd heard anything. The realization punched him in the gut; he could only imagine being in her place, not knowing if those he loved were safe.

He made a mental note to have Uncle arrange a courier or something.

Of course, with the dragon dead and Erebor now theirs again, it was only a matter of time before they sent off for anyone in the Blue Mountains who wished to relocate to Erebor—and of course, his mother would be in that party. He smiled; she'd probably be _leading_ that party, Princess of the Line of Durin that she was.

Though with winter hard on their heels, that would probably not happen until Spring.

His smile widened as he pictured her gathering dwarves from all over the settlement to come with her. Surely Brydda would come, with little Gimli—Kíli almost hated to admit it, but he had surprised himself by missing his young cousin, despite the lad's constant needling about his lack of a beard and his skill with a bow. He was certain his shieldbrother Rognus would make the trip, if for no other reason than that he now owed Kíli money—their wager on whether the dragon was alive or not having been decidedly won in Kíli's favor a few nights ago. And, naturally, Sêla and Anora's family would come too. He thought fondly of the two girls, his and Fee's oldest friends…and he personally was convinced that Sêla was head over heels for his brother; even if she didn't know it….he smirked. If he knew Fíli—and no one knew Fíli like he knew Fíli—the lass stood more than just a chance with him.

But a lot could change in a year, and he hadn't spoken to the girls in at least that long. They could both be married by now, for all he knew. Still, he hoped they made the trip and settled in Erebor; he missed their inside jokes, Anora's fiery spirit and Sêla's understated strength.

Now if they could just get through this business with the Elves and Men of Esgaroth, and really start the work of rebuilding Erebor…

He let his mind wander for the rest of his shift, rowing along carefully and just enjoying daydreams of what awaited his family in the future.

* * *

Morning found Ryn and Bofur headed different directions to help out with their respective duties for that day. It wasn't long before the questions began, asking where the two young dwarves who were so willing to do back-breaking work, and with such cheer, were. Bofur and Ryn were able to put off the answers with, "oh, I'm sure they're around somewhere," and "I haven't seen him this morning, perhaps ask so-and-so?" until long after the party bound for Erebor—which included Bard, to Ryn's disappointment—had thundered off around the Long Lake.

But when Sigrid escorted Mik to the medical area with a broken arm because he'd been trying to lift a beam that Kíli had planned to help him move, Ryn decided it was likely not a good idea to continue pretending the princes were among them.

"He and Fíli left for Erebor last night," she said to Mik, softly, as she set and bandaged his arm. She would heal it later, if she had energy after dealing with Thranduil's folk.

"Why?!" Sigrid exclaimed.

Ryn shrugged. "Their place is there, they got tired of waiting to see their home. With the elves having arrived, and you all in good hands, they were eager to get there."

"Why did you and Bofur stay, then?" Mik challenged. She sighed. "Because I have healing to do here, and Bofur stayed for my sake—so I don't have to travel alone when I do go to the Mountain in a few days."

Sigrid looked troubled. "They should've at least said goodbye. How am I supposed to tell Bain and Tilda?"

Ryn frowned. "I'll tell them, if you like. It's not as if you'll never see them again, I'm sure there will be relations between Esgaroth and Erebor. They just had to go for now."

A young girl interrupted her, tugging on her tunic gently. "Miss Deorynn?"

"Yes?"

"The elf king is lookin' for ya. He's in that clearin' south of camp."

"Thank you, Lillie. I'll go see him now." The girl nodded and scampered off.

Ryn tugged on Mik's sling. "Now don't you go moving this arm, hear? Sigrid, keep an eye on him, will you?" Her friend nodded, and Ryn promised to see them later.

She found the elf king, flanked by two scarred ellon, all of them standing before a smaller elf she couldn't see well. Legolas stood at the edge of the clearing, looking anxious. She bowed respectfully.

"Your Highness."

"Miriel, thank you for coming." Unlike the day before, Thranduil was in perfect control of his emotions now. "These men are two of my most valiant: Ordír, Master Archer, and his brother Dúchon, Chief of Blades. They acquired their burns while defending me during the battle against Morgoth's dragons over a thousand years ago."

"Only they?" she murmured softly, surprised there were not more.

"Many," the taller of the elves-Ordír, she remembered-answered. "_Many_ were burned by dragon-fire that day; only we three have remained in Arda. King Thranduil for the sake of his people; my brother and I for the sake of the King."

She fought back a smile at the loyalty on display before her.

"And this," Thranduil said, stepping aside reluctantly, "is my daughter, Nireth."

The blonde elleth stepped forward with a smile toward her father, eyes fixing on Ryn, who stifled a gasp. Angry burn scars covered her arms and neck, creeping into the left side of her face and her forehead. They contrasted harshly with the creamy paleness of her skin, the clear blue of her eyes, like storm clouds on a perfectly blue sky. The most notable thing about her, though, was her countenance-her smile, the light in her eyes, the happiness she radiated. Ryn could practically _feel_ the joy of her unsullied heart leaking through her pores-the young she-elf was _life_ personified, her aura nearly blinding. She was strong and she was good; and Ryn fought tears at the idea that such a creature should suffer her whole life as Nireth had.

She shook her head and stepped forward, wrapping the elf in an embrace, hardly caring whether it was proper. Nireth returned the hug with a laugh of delight before holding Ryn at arm's length.

"You see first the beauty within," she said, her voice musical. "For that, you shall have much joy in life, and greater pain in death; but fear not, Miriel Elesser, for death holds no power at all over a spirit like yours."

Flummoxed by the elleth's cryptic words, and trying to hide it, Ryn nodded. "Well. For now, let me relieve you all of the pain you should never have suffered all these years," she said. "Ordír, please sit down."

The elf shook his head. "Nay, my lady, but Nireth will be healed first." The she-elf rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and muttered to Ryn as she sat crossed-legged on the forest floor, "I told them it was unnecessary, but they insisted."

Ryn just smiled back and settled in front of the girl, taking her scarred hand in both of her own.

"Will it hurt?" Ryn looked up to see the smallest measure of trepidation in Nireth's eyes.

"Not at all," she murmured gently, and began gathering energy from the surrounding trees; just enough to do what she needed, and no more.

Her hands began to glow as if lit from within her veins, the magic sparkling silver and twining about the green sparks of life from the plants. It brightened and grew as she worked, and she heard Nireth laugh, that sweet joyous sound again, and whisper to Thranduil, _"Ada, el bainon!"_

She could almost _feel_ Thranduil's smile.

"Ready?" she asked quietly, fixing her gaze on Nireth's face. The elleth nodded, blue eyes wide. Ryn pushed the magic into the girl's arm, slowly, letting it work as it washed through her. Nireth gasped as her burns healed; healthy muscle and unblemished skin appearing where before was gray, brittle, ruined flesh. When she felt the last of the dark wounds disappear, she let go of Nireth's hand and released the remaining energy back into the trees from whence it came.

She was surprised to note Nireth was not looking at her skin, perfect and whole. She was looking nowhere in particular; blinking as she wiggled her fingers, twisted her wrists and arms, stood slowly with a huff of air softly escaping her chest.

"Ada, Legolas," she murmured, awed. They were beside her already, watching her carefully. She looked up at them, her smile even more radiant than before.

"There is no pain. I….it….it doesn't hurt anymore."

Legolas folded his sister in his arms, his strong shoulders shaking as he murmured, "Lainnith, I am so happy for you…my sweet sister…" into her neck, over and over, like a mantra. She laughed, stroking his back and calling him "_c__ó__l muindor nin_," and their father rested his hands on each of their backs, smiling wider than Ryn had thought the stoic elf king capable of.

Turning away so as to give them a little privacy, Ryn motioned to Ordír and Dúchon. Ordír nudged his brother in front of him in a manner that reminded her so much of Fíli with Kíli that she couldn't hold back a chuckle. By the time she had finished healing both of them, she was tiring quickly, and Thranduil sat before her without a word.

"Your Highness," she smiled. "Give me your hand, and let go the magic that preserves your appearance."

He held back from her for a moment, then slowly exhaled, his scars revealing themselves as he relaxed. His were by far the most extensive, and Ryn didn't even bother trying to hold back the tears that ran down her cheeks as she took his ruined hand in her warm ones.

He stared at her as she closed her eyes and began to work; she jumped when he touched her cheek. "Why do you weep, Miriel?"

"I weep for you," she whispered back, "for the pain you have endured without hope or relief for far too long."

He could do no more than stare in awe at that answer, and she went to work.

Minutes later, he sat before her whole once more-this time without hiding behind a mask.

Unlike his daughter, he did not smile-not at first. He closed his eyes and just breathed. Nireth fell to her knees beside her father, squeezing his arm and whispering, "Isn't it wonderful, Ada? Just to _feel_, to breathe and move and have no pain?"

Thranduil's eyes opened on his daughter's beautiful face. "It _is,_ my sweet Nireth. It is most wonderful indeed."

* * *

Qir ruffled his feathers as he heard the voices coming from the direction of the Water. They were not like the voices of the Men down in the Wood Town, they were…clearer, pleasanter, and they called to him without saying his name.

He took to the sky to investigate.

There were two young Durinsons on the Water, moving toward the Mountain at a good speed. He knew they were Durinsons because he could understand them more clearly than others, and when he called to them, they paused and looked to the skies.

They could hear him! Most beings struggled to understand ravenspeak, though they often could manage it under stress.

He squawked another greeting—"Hail, Durinsons!"—and the Golden One stood in the boat, arm held up like a perch. Qir recognized the gesture; all the Ravens of the Mountain were taught at a young age that it meant a ravenspeaker was ready to talk and listen.

There hadn't been a ravenspeaker here in many, many years. Not in his lifetime, at least, nor his sire's. Qir landed on the proffered arm of the Golden One, rubbing his beak against the rough fabric to show his pleasure.

"Greetings, Durinson."

The ravenspeaker's eyes widened, and his darker companion gasped.

"Greetings, noble raven," the dwarf stammered.

"I am Qir, you are Golden One," the bird established, as was tradition. "You are traveling to the Gold-Lit Halls?" The dwarf's face scrunched in confusion. "I think he means Erebor," the younger one whispered.

Erebor, yes. That's what the ravenspeakers of old had called it.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Gold-Lit Halls. Erebor."

Golden One blinked. "Yes, we're going to the Gold-Lit Halls. Our kin are there; do you know if they're alive?"

Ravenspeakers in the Mountain; he had heard rumors but seen nothing himself.

"I know not," he responded. "I will go and look, for Golden One. Take a message to Gold-Lit Halls?"

"Tell him to let Uncle know we're safe and on our way," the other whispered. Qir cocked his head; it was bad form to interrupt a conversation with a ravenspeaker. The chick needed to be corrected, perhaps he did not know.

"Fledgling, remain quiet while I am speaking to Golden One," he croaked firmly. Both sets of eyes widened, and Golden One bit back a smile fiercely (though Qir was unsure what he found amusing) while Fledgling sat back, properly abashed. Qir nodded encouragingly—he was just a youngling, he would soon learn manners. He turned back to his ravenspeaker, who sobered and stuttered, "Tell the ravenspeakers in the Gold-Lit Halls that King's nephews are safe and on their way."

Nephews? He knew not this word.

"Nest-mates?" he inquired. Golden One nodded. "Yes. Kíli and Fíli, nest-mates. Brothers. King's kin."

"King's kin," Qir repeated. That would have to suffice—he had no idea what 'brothers' were. "King's kin nest-mates safe and coming to Gold-Lit Halls. That is the message?"

Golden One smiled. "Yes, noble Qir. Thank you for your help."

Qir bowed, then looked to the younger dwarf, who was hunched back in the boat, attempting to look small. "Golden One, I wish to speak to Fledgling."

"Kíli, hold out your arm," Golden One hissed. The younger straightened immediately and did so. Qir hopped to his arm and assessed him critically. The chick had gentle eyes; bravery and loyalty lived there too. He was only young and reckless, knew not the ways of the ravens.

"Fledgling," he addressed him. "Be not sad. I am not offended, only trying to help." Fledgling smiled. "I know, good sir, I am only ashamed my behavior was unacceptable."

Qir rubbed his beak on Fledgling's sleeve. "It is forgiven. I will return soon!"

With that, he took to the sky, flying toward the Mountain as fast as he could.

The death of the Great Beast, and now ravenspeakers in the Gold-Lit Halls. What times he had lived to see!

* * *

By mid-afternoon, word had gotten round the camp that Fíli and Kíli had left for Erebor. The response to this was varied, though most people seemed unsurprised and rather unbothered by it. Most everyone seemed to have assumed they would eventually leave, and were grateful that Ryn and Bofur had stayed to help a little longer. Ryn was relieved to see the relationship with the people of Esgaroth was unbroken.

The Master, however, was less magnanimous.

Ryn was washing up in a secluded grove where a clear mountain stream ran later that afternoon, when a rustle in the nearby trees told her she wasn't alone. She rose and turned to see the Master's greasy sidekick staring at her, blatant hatred evident in his gaze.

"Ah, so you survived," she said, a vague attempt to be polite.

"Don't sound so disappointed," he replied. She shrugged, and he continued.

"Word has it that you're quite the hero around here now, what with your…_healing powers_, and your…._compassion_." His voice dripped with derision, and Ryn wondered if she would be justified in slapping that leer right off his ugly face.

"I've been doing my best to help," was all she said.

He loped over to her—rather quickly, she felt, for someone his age—and made to grasp her chin. His hand never made it before a sharp blade held it at bay, cutting into the skin and creating little beads of red. "You will not touch me," she growled, pushing at his forearm with her knife. He pulled his hand back and rubbed at the shallow laceration, grinning madly.

"We will see about that, _my lady_." And then he was gone.

Ryn sighed. _Bastard._

* * *

It was nearing dinnertime when Qir found the nest-mates again, trudging along a northward path—once well-used, it looked like—toward Dale.

"Ravenspeakers in the Gold-Lit Halls," the raven stated, ruffling his feathers in excitement. "Snow Beard says King's-kin nest-mates must make haste, there is much to be done!"

Fíli smiled at him, having no doubt who 'Snow Beard' was, and Kíli couldn't help but return it. "We are going as fast as we can, Master Raven," Fíli said to the bird. "We should be there before supper."

Qir quorked his approval, then took off, calling back to them, "I will go alert the Mountain Flock: Ravenspeakers in the Gold-Lit Halls!"

Dale wasn't far from the river; they came to its ruins only minutes after Qir left them. They walked the road through the town quietly, the place heavy with memory and grief, even after all these years. The air was thick with it, and the debris was dispersed with signs of everyday life that Kíli found frankly more disturbing than the damage to the buildings themselves: a rag doll lying in the street, a broken crystal vase nest to the remains of what had once been a lovely tapestry. He pressed close to his brother until they left Dale behind.

Erebor was closer now than ever, and Kíli felt his stomach flipping with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see it. Couldn't wait to walk those halls so rich with history and his own heritage, to find his place there, serve his people from Fíli's side many years from now when their Uncle passed on, to…

Fíli's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Oh, Kee." He murmured.

They had topped another hill, and there before them, the clutter of debris unable to completely cover up the former glory of it, was the main gate of Erebor. Two massive stone sentinels stood watch with battleaxes at the ready, while the two exiled princes gazed for the first time upon their birthright. The stone face had been carved into the beautiful geometric architecture of their people, though much of it was defaced now, after so many years of the dragon having inhabited the place.

Fíli started moving forward, almost as if in a trance, and Kíli followed him. They made their way along the main road between Dale and Erebor, carefully picking their way through the ubiquitous rubble toward the gate.

"Who goes there?" a shout they recognized sounded as soon as they were close enough to be in sight.

"Mister Dwalin?!" Kíli shouted back.

"Lads? Fíli, Kíli, is that you?" Dwalin ran toward them. "The bird said you were coming; Mahal be praised, lads, come inside!"

Laughing, he threw an arm round each of their shoulders and led them into the halls.

* * *

Bilbo was quite certain he'd never been so relieved as he was to hear the lads tell the tale of the Dragon's demise. Laketown was destroyed, and had suffered its losses, but everyone close to his heart—Fíli, Kíli, Deorynn, Bofur, and even the bargeman and his children—were safe and sound. He was smiling like a fool for the rest of that hour, despite Thorin's stony expression.

He could tell the lads were perplexed by their Uncle's behavior. When they'd first entered Erebor, they had run to him, arms flung open—which, given how sick Kíli had been and how angry Fíli had been when Thorin had last seen them, Bilbo expected to turn into a giant family hug—but they'd been sorely disappointed when he'd instead held them each at arm's length and leveled a steely look, beginning a lecture about the importance of decorum here in these hallowed halls. The lads had shared a confused look, but settled down at once.

Fortunately, that had hardly stopped them from rather affectionate reunions with the rest of the Company, including him. They'd both wrapped him up in their arms at the same time, declaring that they were hugging him for both themselves and Lady Deorynn, who was indisposed at the moment and would be joining them soon. He'd given them enough old-Baggins huff and bluster to make them laugh, but then returned the embrace most enthusiastically. He had been exceedingly worried about Kíli, and had missed the brothers' banter and cheer in the last several days.

The reunions hadn't lasted long, though, before the lads had called for their Uncle and Balin, speaking in quick and quiet conference. Something was amiss, though Bilbo couldn't tell what; it became quite apparent a moment later when Thorin bellowed, "They are _what?!_" Fíli and Kíli looked shocked at his outburst, while Balin seemed to struggle not to roll his eyes.

"Uncle," Fíli began. "It is not an unreasonable—"

"They think to come here, mere days after the Worm's demise, and _demand _reparation of us? Without us, they'd still be languishing in the shadow of Smaug!"

"Without us, they'd still have their homes." Kíli's voice held a bite Bilbo had never heard him use with his uncle before. Thorin's face darkened considerably at it, and Kíli looked slightly taken aback, as though wondering whether that tone had been wise.

Whether it had or not they never found out, because at that exact moment, Gloin came running, saying Bard was at the gate, with a party of Men and Elves, requesting an audience with the King Under the Mountain.

Bilbo followed him, just behind Fíli and Kíli, who were signing madly in Iglishmêk—he had no idea what they were saying, but their faces both communicated the same thing he had first wondered upon entering this Mountain:

_What is going on with Thorin?_

* * *

Ryn sat watching the sun rise over the Long Lake the next morning—it was a beautiful morning, if very chilly, when she saw the elf courier gallop into the settlement. Curious of word from Erebor, she ran toward him, arriving just in time to hear Thranduil's sharp curse of Thorin Oakenshield and all his kin, through the thin canvas of his tent.

She backed away slowly, knowing then how the deal had gone, but surprised. Thorin had refused them what was rightfully theirs? Why? Had Fíli and Kíli made it back in time to warn him, give him time to come to terms with it? Had they worded something wrongly and just gotten his stubbornness up?

She wandered back to Bofur, confused and worried. What would happen now? Surely the Men and Elves wouldn't attack Erebor…would they? No, of course they wouldn't. That would be ridiculous.

Bofur responded to her questions by telling her then of the gold-sickness the line of Durin was so susceptible to. She listened, unmoving, through his explanation, clenching her jaw and fists in equal measure.

She had sent Fíli and Kíli into _that_? A place that would eventually drive them mad, and seemed to be working on their Uncle already?

_My King, my best friend, and my lover. All in one fell blow. Well played, Fate, well played._

She would not lose them like this. None of them.

"Bofur, are you ready to leave here?"

He nodded. "My Lady, I thought you'd never ask."

She smiled grimly. "Come on. We're going to Erebor."

* * *

Sallyn turned to his Chief Advisor just as the arrogant Elf-King left his tent in a huff. Putting his mouth to the man's ear, he spoke quietly.

"Bring her to me."

The man smirked and bowed, left quickly.

* * *

_"Ada, el bainon!"_-"Father, it is so beautiful!"

_"Col muindor nin"_-"My golden brother"

_Lainnith_-Legolas' nickname for Nireth ('Free-spirited sister')

* * *

End Note: While the original idea for talking ravens is Tolkien's (in The Hobbit), the practical application of it is based upon Summer Alden's_ Erebor, 3022_ series. You can find her profile at **summerald** on this site, they're fantastic stories and well worth reading!


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Bit of a short chapter, here; but things are about to pick up quite a bit in the coming chapters as we near the end of this tale.

Enjoy!

* * *

Ryn and Bofur gathered their things quietly. Ryn looked toward the small lean-to that Bard had erected for his children before he left, troubled. They needed to leave now, before things got any worse in Erebor, but she wasn't going to go without a goodbye—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp gasp from Bofur, and then pain blasted through her head and everything went dark.

* * *

Kíli flopped down next to his brother, who was on watch at the main gate. There had been very little activity in Bard's makeshift camp further down into the valley; not since they sent a courier scurrying back to Esgaroth, doubtless with news of Thorin's refusal to give up the requested gold. Fíli had been assigned the morning watch, and Kíli came out to join him just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. Fíli grinned to himself.

"Good morning, brother."

Kíli smiled at him softly, nudging his shoulder. "Did you sleep well, Fee?"

"No."

"Me neither."

Not for the first time since they'd arrived in Erebor last night, Fíli searched his own mind for any sign of the gold sickness that even now ate at his uncle. It had become even more obvious that was the problem when Thorin's first order after Bard's party left them had been to continue searching for the Arkenstone.

He hadn't even given Kee and him a proper greeting.

Fíli knew the stories, the whispers, that there was some weakness in the souls of the Line of Durin that made them especially susceptible to gold sickness, and he wanted to do his best to head it off in himself and his little brother until they could fix Thorin and find a more permanent way to counteract it.

So he had a plan today. A plan that involved spending as much time as possible outside of the mountain halls, refusing to keep gold on his person, and quizzing himself and Kíli every few hours on how to function without gold. So far, he felt absolutely no compunction to hoard gold.

Of course, they'd only been here one night.

He shuddered.

"What will we do about Uncle?" Kíli asked, clearly worried. Fíli sighed.

"I have no idea, Kee. Maybe Ryn can help him, when she gets here."

"But how bad will he be by then? He's deteriorating fast; he's been up for hours already, sifting through those piles of gold. I don't know if he slept. He won't even _look_ at me."

Fíli squeezed his brother's shoulder. "We're going to be fine, Kíli. Just you wait and see. For now, we'll stay out of Uncle's way until this thing with the men and elves blows over, and then we'll see what happens. There's a way around this, there has to be."

Kíli didn't look convinced, but nodded and leaned into Fíli, and together they watched the sun cast its blinding, warm light on the forest below.

* * *

"It is positively _delightful_ to see you tied up and helpless," the leering voice hit her brain as her eyes fluttered open. Ryn moaned quietly against the headache pounding in her skull—they had hit her _hard_—and put her hands over her eyes to block the light.

Or tried to.

Dimly, her mind registered the resistance to movement. Whatever held her arms was scratchy and rough, and too tight around her wrists….

Rope?

She was tied up. She went to protest and realized there was a dirty rag knotted around her mouth, stifling her speech. Alfrid and the Master stood over her, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

_Helpless, indeed._

Alfrid smirked as his words sank in, and she pulled on the ropes angrily, growling through the gag in her mouth.

She sat up, wincing as Alfrid kicked her back down, but the movement had shown her what she needed to see: Bofur was nearby, also unconscious, it seemed.

"Now, Alfrid," the Master drawled. "No need to be violent with the girl. Remove the gag, I wish to speak with her."

Alfrid untied the rag carelessly, yanking some of her hair in the process. She gasped a little the first time, cursing herself for showing weakness as he leaned in close enough she could smell his putrid breath, and whispered, "Oops."

She stifled a shudder as he walked to stand behind Sallyn, who smiled condescendingly. "Now, Miss Deorynn, I am very sorry for the trouble this has all caused you; but Oakenshield is being quite stubborn, and we have decided—well, _I _have decided; that peacock of an elf king knows nothing about this—that perhaps the life of one as valuable as you will be enough to loosen his tight-fisted grip on his gold."

She cocked an eyebrow carefully. "That's what you think, is it?"

He folded his hands before his pot belly. "It is. And if we kill the spare over here," he motioned to Bofur, "he'll know we're serious about it."

_Over my dead body._

"That may not be the best idea for you. For me, it'll work out great though, so you go ahead and do that."

The Master looked hard at her, as if trying to divine whether she was being honest with him. She met his gaze squarely, flippant and uncaring as she could be. Finally, he caved.

"Why's that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, because despite my healing abilities, I'm really nothing to Thorin; at least not compared to his brother over there." She looked over to Bofur, who was awake and looking rather confused, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, Dorin. Your brother would kill me himself if he knew I kept your identity secret when your life was in danger."

Bofur recovered enough to nod slowly and level a rather frightening glare at the Master—in that moment she was able to fully appreciate the fact that he and Intimidating Bifur were actually _related_. The Master looked between them, clearly hoping to see some sort of silent admission of treachery.

He found none.

"Fine!" he growled. "Alfrid, get Bort and Gurn to take these two back to the camp. Oakenshield can just choose which of them he wants alive and we'll kill the other." Alfrid snickered and ran off. The guard came in and grabbed Bofur by the scruff of the neck. "I'll get this one ready to go and come back for the girl," he stated gruffly. The Master nodded, tied the gag back tightly over Ryn's face, patted her head, and left.

She sat, a string of filthy curses—in Khuzdul and in Common—playing over and over in her brain. They should've left with Kíli and Fíli two nights ago—except that would've meant Thranduil and his kin still not being healed, and she couldn't stand the thought of that. The night after that, then! They should've left. That had been a close call with Bofur, and her own grief at the loss of his cheerful demeanor and loyal heart notwithstanding; she would not have wanted to have to explain to Bifur that his brother wasn't coming back.

_Mahal, no. Just…no._

She was hardly worried, though. She had escaped capture before, and apparently there were to be only two guards with them. She nearly scoffed aloud.

She and Bofur wouldn't be captive very long.

She blinked up at the skinny silhouette of someone against the sunshine as he opened the tent flap. He let it fall closed behind him and began circling her like some sort of bird of prey.

Ryn sighed. _Alfrid._

The man bent so their faces were far too close for Ryn's comfort and smiled. "You do think you're something special, don't you, _my Lady_?" the derision in his voice made Ryn wince internally. She knew this tone. She _hated_ this tone.

"You're such a big hero here now, what with your _magic_…even the elf king is wrapped around your little finger. But I see through you_. I know what you are_."

She squirmed away as he put his lips to her ear. He gripped her face the way she'd stopped him from doing the night before, digging his fingernails roughly into the tender skin of her jaw.

"I know you're a bastard child, born of a dwarf mother and a human father. You're revolting, a curse and a plague on those you know you, little girl….and I _hate_ you."

Ryn was ashamed when a whimper escaped her throat. Why did his words matter? The feeling was entirely mutual, she hated him too; and she couldn't have cared less what he thought….but they were so familiar, those bitter words…

"_An offense against nature!"_

"_An abomination!"_

"_You should just leave town, you disgusting pig; nobody wants you here."_

"_Leave it in the forest to die!"_

Alfrid was chuckling. "Oh," he simpered. "Did I find a weak spot? So it _does _feel, how unfortunate." He slid a knife from his belt and leaned in toward her again. "I hope you know I could kill you right now."

How did he know exactly where to prod her to turn her from a confident, strong woman into a weak, whimpering mess?

"I could slit your throat and you could do nothing to stop it. I could have my way with you, if you weren't too disgusting to even _look_ at, and no one would do anything about it. You are completely, utterly…_helpless_."

A tear ran down her cheek. He caught it on the blade of his dagger, scraping her face with its sharp edge.

"Oh look. It cries too."

Alfrid stood up and dusted himself off. "I hope you enjoy the next couple of days of your life," he said. "Because I'm pretty sure they'll be your last. The Master has promised me the honor of destroying you myself. And I'm going to _enjoy _it."

* * *

Sigrid hummed softly to herself as she walked back to the camp from refreshing herself in the river to get her day started. The sun was barely up yet, but Bain and Tilda would be hungry when they woke, so she wanted to start on breakfast. She looked over to where Bofur and Deorynn had been sleeping; usually the girl was up before the sun and gave Sigrid a smile and a greeting before the craziness of the day began.

Today was odd; there was no one over there, the bundled bedrolls empty. She stood slowly—had they left, like Kíli and Fíli?—and scanned the area.

A couple of large guards running toward the other side of camp with the limp forms of her friends tucked under their arms was probably the very last thing she expected to see—though she wasn't really surprised. The Master was always up to something.

The difference was, her Da was a hero now, and the Master had nothing on him.

Plus, she was _quite _done letting that man toy with those she cared for.

Huffing quietly and gathering her skirt, she snuck along behind the guards and settled down behind a barrel to listen to what they wanted with her friends.

A few minutes later, she stifled a gasp as she heard the Master's plan_. Ransom_? Had he lost his mind?

All this over _gold_?

Sigrid scowled as she snuck out of the area. She needed someone who could help her with this. Her first thought was of Da, but he was still at the Gate of Erebor, arguing uselessly with a stubborn dwarf king over bits of shiny metal. Mik might have been able to help her, but his arm was broken. Bain was too hotheaded, and she'd never throw him in front of the guards anyhow.

That left the elves. She remembered Deorynn talking about healing the elf king and his daughter and friends the day before; perhaps they would help her.

She ran into the trees, toward the elves' camp. She was stopped by a blond sentry just outside it.

"What do you want, girl?"

She recognized this elf. Where from? She drew herself up tall and stated, "I have come to request an audience with King Thranduil. It is a matter of some urgency, regarding his friend Deorynn."

The elf's blue eyes locked on hers sharply. "Lady Miriel?"

Sigrid blinked, unsure how to answer that. Who was Miriel? "The Healer?" she inquired, settling on something they would both know.

The elf nodded. "Yes, the Healer. Miriel is her elven name."

"Oh."

"Legolas, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from young Lady Sigrid?" a red-haired she-elf had joined them. Sigrid gasped as she recognized her. This was the elleth who had saved Kíli—Tauriel, was her name. And the blond—he was her companion that night, the one who left right on the heels of the orcs!

She curtseyed clumsily. "Forgive me, Lady Tauriel, my Lord Elf, I did not at first recognize you."

Tauriel laughed lightly, and even the blond smiled a bit. "There is nothing to forgive," he said, bidding her stand. "You were busy that night. I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil. What is this urgent news about Miriel?"

She nodded sharply, remembering her errand. "The Master is kidnapping her and Bofur; he thinks to use them as a ransom for King Thorin! Can't you help them? They've done nothing at all wrong…the guards are leaving with them in mere minutes!"

Tauriel said something in elvish that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and tore off into the elves' camp.

"She's gone to get horses," Legolas explained. "Thank you, Lady Sigrid, for your help. We will take it from here."

Sigrid balked just a little. "You'll let me know when they're safe?"

Legolas smiled. "Certainly, my Lady. It will only take a few hours. Look for me before midday."

And he was gone.

* * *

Ryn bounced along behind the guard on the back of a spotted gelding. As much as she despised being tied up like a common criminal and bound to an animal, she did not struggle; falling was not in her best interests.

Not yet, at least.

She was still shaken by Alfrid's words in the tent. She forced herself to think of Kíli's words instead.

_Beloved of the Prince of Erebor. A rare treasure, he told me. Even the elves call me Miriel; which means 'precious jewel.' I am not alone. I am not an abomination. _

It amazed her how deeply those words from her childhood had rooted, how much they affected her still, even coming from a pathetic creature like Alfrid. She shook herself, forcing her mind into memories of Kíli's tenderness, Fíli's faith in her, and Bilbo's companionship rather than…what came before that.

She wasn't that girl anymore.

She was right about one thing: they'd barely made it into the trees on the north side of Long Lake before Ryn became acutely aware they weren't alone. She caught a flash of brown in the trees, a hoof beat that belonged to neither her nor Bofur's mounts…she smiled, as much as one can through a gag.

It took the guards a few minutes longer to realize it, but it was too late. A bay mare rushed out of the trees in front of them, stopping the guards, and a pure white gelding came alongside. With barely a flick of his wrist, Legolas cut Bofur's ropes.

At the same time, Ryn deliberately dismounted her guard's horse, stumbling as the ropes interfered with her balance. The guard shouted and made to follow her, but stopped at the feel of cold steel against his throat.

"I would not do that if I were you," the she-elf warned.

Bofur staggered over to Ryn and cut her bonds as well. Within seconds, both of them stood free on the forest floor, looking up at their rescuers gratefully. Ryn grinned.

"Ah, Legolas, Tauriel. Always a pleasure, my friends."

Legolas laughed. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Miriel. Are you quite all right?"

"Oh yes, thank you, these folks were just kindly giving us a ride to Erebor. Much faster than walking, you see."

"Ahh," the elf prince smiled. "Well then, we shan't keep you from your kin, shall we? You there," he spoke to the guard who had been holding Bofur, "get off your horse."

The man obliged, and Ryn and Bofur climbed up. Tauriel smiled. "I will accompany you, _mellon nin_, to make sure you arrive safely. Legolas will handle the guards."

"Miriel," Legolas called sharply. She pulled her horse up and looked at him. Was that _concern_?

"All is not well in that mountain, _mellon nin_. Please be careful."

She sent him a winning smile. "When am I not careful, _hír vuin_? But at your request, I shall be extra cautious."

He nodded to her, and the two horses rode north at a comfortable trot.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine!

A/N: Whew! There is a TON happening in this chapter, I hope it doesn't feel rushed. Please don't hesitate to leave a note or review if you desire, and enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, stood on the ancient ravenspeaking post on the West slope of the Lonely Mountain—this post had once been called the River Post, he remembered, because it was stationed directly above where the river left the underground caverns of the mountain. This wasn't the River Running that emptied into the Long Lake, but one of its larger tributaries; it originated deep within the Lonely Mountain itself, cool and sparkling and merry as it ran down the mountainside to meet its deeper, calmer counterpart.

He had loved this spot as a child. The beauty of it was unparalleled—it afforded a uniquely fantastic view of the valley, and Mirkwood beyond that, lovely from a distance—and he had been sitting at the feet of the ravenspeakers since he could toddle up there with his mother's assistance. He'd always had an affinity for the birds, perhaps more so than most; they flocked to him, and he heard them as clearly as he heard any dwarf speak.

But there was no time to get lost in memories of what had been. He held his arm up and waited for a raven. He doubted he would have to wait long.

He had a responsibility to bring back the glorious days of old, when Erebor was a mighty kingdom, ruled by an equally mighty king in the possession of the Heart of the Mountain. This was what frustrated him so with the rest of his party—they whispered that it was the Madness, the gold lust, but he knew better. He could not rule without the Arkenstone, and they seemed to be entirely nonchalant about finding it.

He _needed _that stone.

Besides, it was a thing of singular beauty, and he deserved one thing of beauty in his life, did he not? Too many years of loss, pain, struggle, and doing everything in his power to be what his people needed him to be…he deserved something comforting, something wonderful.

Something _precious_.

Yes. He wanted the Arkenstone, and he deserved it. And they were going to help him find it.

A large raven had spotted him, and pulled up, landing elegantly on his upraised arm. Thorin smiled, and the bird bowed.

"I am Mykr, you are Mountain King," it croaked. Thorin nodded respectfully. "What does Mountain King require?"

"Mykr, I need your fastest, strongest raven to fly a message to the Iron Hills for me. Are you willing?"

The bird cocked its head, fixing him with one black eye. "Mountain Flock is pleased to assist the King. I will send for Qir; he will fly strong, fly fast!"

"Thank you, Mykr. You bring honor to your Flock."

Mykr ruffled his feathers, pleased at the praise, and took off. Thorin only had to wait a few moments before another raven, smaller but faster, took rest on his arm. It, too, bowed.

"I am Qir, you are Mountain King. Mountain King has a message for Iron King?"

"Yes, Qir, thank you. Tell him Great Beast is dead, but Men and Elves interfere with the reclamation of Gold-Lit Halls and I require his assistance."

Qir repeated the message and allowed Thorin to tie a scarlet thread around his foot—the universal sign of distress amongst ravenspeakers—then took off east. Thorin knew that fast ravens could get a message to the Iron Hills in about three hours, a heartening prospect, since it meant Dain would be on his way barely before midday. Dwarves travelling at speed, even on foot, could span the one-hundred fifty miles from the Iron Hills to Erebor in just less than four days.

The Siege of Erebor would be over in less than a week.

* * *

"So then I looked over my shoulder, and there was this little elf child, not much older than I was, staring wide-eyed. He had clearly never seen an elf with red hair before and didn't know what to make of an elleth that spent her time practicing archery. We connected immediately, for that reason if no other, and have been very close friends ever since."

Ryn smiled at Tauriel. "And how long ago did that happen?"

The elf captain looked thoughtful. "Almost six hundred years ago." Bofur made an odd sort of choking sound, and Ryn laughed. "What, Bofur, did you not know elves live thousands of years? Tauriel and Legolas are barely out of adolescence in their eyes."

Tauriel nodded at the dwarf's gaping mouth and wide eyes. "It is true."

"I knew they lived long," Bofur murmured, still staring, "I suppose I just never realized _how_ long."

Tauriel laughed. "It is quite all right, Master Dwarf. There are many things about each other we do not know. I rather think it a—"

But they never really got to hear what Tauriel thought of the rift between the race of Elves and Dwarves. An orc arrow flew from a nearby tree and barely missed Bofur's head, so close it cut a slit in his floppy-eared hat. Ryn pushed him down and dismounted before she even had time to register her actions, cursing the loss of her bow and quiver during the destruction of Laketown. She drew her remaining two daggers and set to work on the orcs that were now streaming onto the trail from every direction.

_Blast, how did they catch us so off guard?_

She slashed at an orc wielding a short sword, her sharp blade cutting through bone and sinew and leaving the creature's hand on the forest floor, still gripping its weapon. The orc screamed for only a second, before her daggers scissored its throat and it collapsed. Tauriel was dealing with three of them quite elegantly; and Bofur two, less elegantly. He had been able to nick a dagger days before, from the wreckage of the town, for which Ryn was glad, as he fought hard and smart, dancing out of reach and then striking close.

He would be all right.

Her own attention was diverted by a rather large orc with a terrifying looking mace. Fortunately for her, maces were relatively easy to deal with, sometimes more so than swords. This orc was the perfect example: he roared and insulted her, trying to unbalance her with fear and anger, then raised his hands over his head to swing the spiked ball on the end of the chain, leaving his entire torso exposed for a mere moment.

Which was all she needed to dash in and stop his heart with a singing blade.

What was an orc scouting party doing out here, anyway? Even if it was a band of misfits from the Grey Mountains, they would have met them on the north side of the Lonely Mountain, not further south…she gasped when she realized:

The scouts were scoping out enemy territory.

_For what?_

Catching sight of an archer, hiding behind the tree to her left, Ryn jumped up as hard as she could. The branch above her head caught her, even as the orc arrow buried itself in one of its fellows who'd been coming up on her right side. She stifled a smirk at that, and dropped down on the archer from above, disarming him in less than a second and pressing her knife to his throat roughly.

"Don't move."

The creature snarled, but all his compatriots were dead. Bofur and Tauriel approached, both looking rather menacing, and Ryn growled, "What are you doing here?"

"Why should I answer you?"

Dwalin's words came back to her unbidden, as clearly as when he spoke them weeks ago:

"_No orc is ever innocent or innocuous. If you ever catch one, get as much information as you can before you kill it. You could save __**hundreds**__ of lives. You don't have to enjoy it—you won't—but pain is their language, you must speak to them in it."_

She pressed the knife harder, beads of black blood further sullying her already-dirty dagger. She dug her fingers roughly into the orc's brittle, dirty hair and pulled, exposing its neck even more. Bofur and Tauriel were now in range, too, and glaring threateningly.

"Because if you do not, I will kill you. Slowly and painfully."

Bofur's eyes flicked to hers, a shadow of worry visible. But it did not faze her; in the face of a threat to her dwarves, not to mention Bard, Sigrid, Bain, Tilda, Legolas, Tauriel, Nireth, Thranduil….Ryn was consumed by a rage she had not fully experienced before—calculating, cold, and unafraid to use her fury to get what she needed.

The orc scoffed.

Red bled into the edges of Ryn's vision, and she let go the orc's throat, jumping in front of him. Before he had time to react, she had driven one blade hilt-deep into his knee, the other into the tender skin at the front of his shoulder. The creature screamed in agony, and Bofur gasped her name, but Ryn barely heard any of it.

"Why are you here?" she repeated, dangerously.

The orc struggled to catch its breath through the haze of pain. Finally, it said, "Death cannot make me speak the secrets of my Master's plan."

She twisted the daggers, and the orc fell back, trying to kick and scratch at her. Ryn sat on its shins, twisting the knife further, and sliced its deltoid in the shoulder, rendering one arm entirely useless. She shuddered, swallowing bile at the feeling of muscle and tendon giving way beneath her blades. The orc snatched at her with his other arm; grabbing at Ryn's shoulder desperately, scratching and squeezing, groping for her throat, but she barely felt it and kept her head high. The orc screamed.

"You're going to die, you and all your friends! The Line of Durin will end, and Erebor's riches will belong to the Dark One and his allies! The river will run red with the blood of dwarves, men, and elves when the armies of Darkness descend from the north—"

_You should not have threatened my people. My friends. My allies._

_My Kíli._

That was all she needed to know. She withdrew her daggers from the creature's joints with a nasty squelch and slit its throat instead.

Bofur was stunned; Tauriel looked grim as Ryn stood to face them.

"Someone is gathering an army," she said, her voice harsh. "I think we'd best be ready for them."

* * *

Fíli had intended to do as he told Kíli, and just stay out of Thorin's way until things settled a bit. He really had. But when Thorin lost his temper with Bilbo for the _third_ time that day, shouting very rude things that were also not at all true, he had just about had enough.

"Uncle!" he stepped in front of Bilbo, hands forward in a placating gesture despite his own irritation.

"Fíli, get out of my way," Thorin growled.

"No, Uncle, listen," he placed his hands on Thorin's shoulders as the dwarf King tried to shove past him. "Please, listen!"

Thorin stopped, glaring.

"We are all doing our best here," Fíli said softly, not wanting to demean his Uncle's authority in front of everyone. "There is too much gold, Uncle, the Arkenstone could be anywhere. Meanwhile, we have other concerns. The men and elves are demanding what is—" he spoke a little louder as Thorin looked ready to interrupt him. "—what is _rightfully theirs_, and nothing you didn't already promise, Uncle. If they lay siege here, it could end badly for us all; we don't want to start off with terrible relations with our neighbors."

"Fíli, you have no idea what you're—"

"In addition," Fíli continued firmly. "Winter is upon us. _Winter_, Uncle. We need food, provisions, assistance to ready this place for the snows; remember the snows on this mountain? You told us—"

"—I know what I told you!" Thorin shouted. "I remember this place; it was my home as a child! It's been my home my whole life, the one place I have always ached to come back to! And look at it, Fíli! That monster Smaug destroyed it, now it's a tomb for our brothers—_my brothers_—who fought to defend it!" Thorin's face was reddening with the force of his temper, and though Fíli did not look forward to dealing with his uncle angry, it was better it was him than Bilbo. Thorin would never actually hurt him.

"Yes, and we should honor that," he started.

"_You_—you would have us honor it by catering to our enemies!" Thorin shouted.

"We have no enemies, here, Uncle! Even the elves…you did not see them in Laketown, they were incredible…"

He knew he'd said the wrong thing the moment the words left his mouth.

"Incredible?! They were _incredible_? I knew you were growing away from me, Fíli, but I never expected such betrayal. I've half a mind to disinherit you from this kingdom, you don't deserve it!"

"This _kingdom_, Uncle? All this is is a tomb, as you said! You seek to make it more than that with a gemstone, but gold and gems—no matter how shiny they are—do not make a king! Honor, courage, loyalty, sacrifice; these things make a—"

He was interrupted by Thorin's fist. His Uncle struck him hard enough to knock him to the hard stone, stunned. Kíli ran forward, horrified; Thorin had never hit either of them, not like _that_.

"Uncle!"

Thorin's gaze cleared just a little, and he looked vaguely horrified. But it lasted only a moment, before he growled, "Find the Arkenstone," and walked away. The others, gathered around, looked uncomfortably at the princes on the ground, hesitating.

"I said find the stone!" Thorin shouted, and everyone—including Bilbo—skittered away to do as ordered.

Fíli sat up; leaning into Kíli briefly to assure him he was okay. Kíli tilted his chin up and ran gentle fingers over the bruise that was quickly blooming there. Fíli pulled back.

"I'm all right, Kee. Received worse in some tavern brawls."

"Yes, but not by his hand," Kíli muttered angrily. "I can't believe he hit you."

Fíli shrugged a little. "It's the Sickness. That's why we have to be so careful, you and me. I won't watch that happen to you, nor will I put you through watching it happen to me. We've got to be patient with Uncle; and we've got to look out for each other, Kee, promise me."

Kíli pulled their foreheads together for only a moment. "Of course I promise, Fíli. Let's go outside for a bit of fresh air, eh? Get away from this blasted gold for a little bit."

Fíli smiled and let his younger brother help him to his feet.

* * *

Legolas stood behind his father, glaring as hard as Thranduil was at the wheedling, manipulative snake of a man before him. Sallyn was doing everything in his power to backtrack from his actions regarding Miriel—having obviously not realized what a crime against a named Elf-Friend meant.

"You attacked her," Thranduil interrupted. "You bound her, threatened her, and then attempted to hold her for ransom against a mad dwarf king."

_H__û__ú__gaun._

"I did not know—"

"—Be that as it may. You will not touch her again, is that understood?"

Sallyn looked at Thranduil, hesitating to give his word. The elf King's blue eyes narrowed.

"If you touch her again—or attempt to use anyone she cares for to force her hand—you can rest assured the Woodland Realm will not trade or treat with Esgaroth until your odious reign here ends."

The Master's eyes darkened, but he nodded. "You have my word I'll leave the girl be," he muttered angrily. "You do know she's a bastard child with no home, no family, and nothing to her name, right?"

Legolas' anger flared. All those things she may be, but none of them mattered next to the healing she had brought his family, and the courage she had displayed multiple times since he met her.

"I know all that, yes," his father was replying.

Sallyn hunched a little. "Oh."

_Oh, indeed._

There was a tiny flaw in his father's logic though, and he asked about it as they left Sallyn's tent.

"_Ada_, what about Erebor?"

His father growled a bit. "What about it?"

"Miriel is loyal to Oakenshield, and there is nothing either of us can do to change her mind."

Thranduil sighed and stopped walking, turning to face his son. "I know that, Legolas. I'd really rather not hurt Oakenshield. This land thrived when Erebor was under the purview of Durin's Line, until the sickness took Thror. I want to shake some sense into the arrogant whelp, but his madness will drive her from him far faster than anything you or I could do. Part of me is glad of it, in case this situation leads to violence; but part of me hopes she can help him."

"Eiri cannot heal sicknesses of the mind_, Ada_, you know this."

Thranduil looked sad. "I did not say it was a wise hope."

* * *

Tauriel watched Miriel carefully as they rode along at a good speed. They would be closing in on Dale soon, and the girl had barely spoken since the incident with the orcish scouting party.

Tauriel got the feeling she had never deliberately inflicted pain in order to get information.

While it had worked, the elleth felt a profound sense of sadness at Miriel's loss. This was going to be hard for her. Tauriel recalled the first time she had been forced to use force to garner intelligence from an orc—she had been new to her post as Captain of the Guard, and the orcs had snatched one of the younger elves from the riverbank. It was not discovered for several hours, since the child had been alone, and the ensuing chase had been fierce. They had found a wounded orc along the trail—the young elf had apparently been a fighter, and the pack couldn't be bothered to wait for one orc—and the responsibility for gathering information had fallen to Tauriel.

It was not something she liked to remember, even three hundred years later.

Beside her, Miriel was pulling at Bofur's jacket, begging him to stop the horse. He obliged, and she dismounted quickly, running further into the trees and throwing up quietly. Bofur looked alarmed and made to go after her, but Tauriel placed a hand on his arm.

"Let me, Master Dwarf."

He paused, then nodded. Tauriel followed her friend into the forest and found her kneeling beside a tree, resting her forehead on the trunk as she fought through deep, gasping sobs. The she-elf laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, felt the tension there before Miriel pulled away sharply. When she looked up and saw who it was, her face crumpled.

"Tauriel, what did I…how could I do…._that_? I'm no better than an orc!"

"Shhh," the elleth soothed. "You are definitely better than an orc, as evidenced by your reaction, _mellon nin_." She stroked the girl's hair, noting two small braids that originated behind her ears and were carefully positioned to be hidden; only could she see them when Miriel's hair shifted to hang in front of her face as she leaned on the tree.

She did know something of dwarven culture, and knew that braids meant something. She didn't know what these were for, but she was certain they were significant.

An idea striking her, she tugged gently at one of the braids. "_Mellon nin_, what is this?"

The girl sat up, rubbing the impression of tree bark off her forehead to cover her bright red blush. Tauriel grinned. "Kíli…gave them to me."

"As a sign of his love for you?"

She nodded. "And mine for him." After a minute, she chewed on her lip, seeming to realize what Tauriel was doing. "You're a clever lass, you are."

Tauriel laughed. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean_, gornil_."

Miriel hugged her. "I'm sure you don't. You have no idea you just made the point quite loudly that I got information from that orc that could very possibly save the lives of everyone I know and love, including Kíli."

Tauriel smirked.

"But the information will do no good so long as I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself," she continued, standing and dusting off the knees of her leggings. Tauriel searched her face; she was still haunted by it—probably would be for a long time—but her eyes were clear and her countenance firm.

She would be all right.

* * *

They arrived in Bard's temporary camp just after sunset. Tauriel stopped there, speaking to her deputy in quick Sindarin. Bofur and Ryn waved to Bard, and with a quick explanation, were off; making their way to Erebor uncontested.

Both of them knowing how dwarf sentries would react to the sound of an approaching horse in the night, Ryn and Bofur did their best to be loud, announcing themselves as they rode, calling out to whoever was on watch.

It was Bombur. He greeted them cheerfully and sent them along inside. Ryn couldn't see much beyond their own torchlight in the deep hall, but she got the impression of massive size and cold stone, and her voice echoed back at her when she called out. It wasn't long before she received an answer, though, and Bilbo came running out of the darkness. He startled her, but she recovered quickly when he threw his arms about her waist with one arm, and Bofur's with the other. They both laughed and greeted him heartily.

"Bilbo, my lad! Are you quite well? Let me look at you!" she laughed.

He pulled her by the hand down the hall. "Come along; let's go into the main room where everyone is sleeping. It's lighter and warmer in there."

He pulled them along, deeper into the mountain, into a large chamber lit softly by firelight. Everyone stood quickly at the sight of them, calling greetings and questions about everything from the state of Esgaroth to their own well being. Bofur and Ryn answered as well as they could, hugs and handshakes and a head bash or two for Bofur, which made Ryn smile.

But it took only a moment for her to realize Fíli and Kíli were not in the room. Thorin was, in a dark corner, looking as though he'd been brooding. She had noticed he had not greeted them, and had important information to pass on, so she approached him.

The look in his eyes gave her pause as she walked. The deep blue had darkened, looking more like a roiling, dangerous sea than a cloudless sky; and his expression was merciless, frightening.

"What do you want, girl?" he growled.

She bobbed her head respectfully. "We had a run in with an orc scouting party on the way here. We interrogated one of them, Thorin; there's an army coming from the Grey Mountains."

He nodded shortly. "Noted." She waited for him to say any more, but he did not.

_What is wrong with him? Is this the gold sickness?_

"Shouldn't we do something to prepare for that?"

"It is already being done," he responded, but refused to elaborate. Ryn stood, unsure whether to push him or retreat. Eventually she settled on what she thought was probably a safe subject.

"Where are Fíli and Kíli?"

Thorin's face darkened further. "I know not." When no more information was forthcoming, she bowed again and walked away awkwardly.

"Where are the princes?" she whispered to Bilbo. The hobbit smiled and answered, "Fighting the gold sickness. I will take you to them."

He led her by the hand through the dark empty halls as they shared their stories from the last few days. Ryn was impressed with Bilbo's courage in taking on the dragon alone, and told him so, while he expressed his joy at her decision to heal Thranduil and his kin, "if for no other reason than we really need allies right now," he said. She just smiled.

After what seemed like an inordinately long time in the twisting, confusing halls, Ryn caught sight of a patch of moonlight ahead. Bilbo pointed her to it and hung back.

She heard the brothers talking quietly as she approached.

"...think old Gordr will make the trip?"

"I doubt it; he's barely able to walk to the market these days."

"The others would help him, of course!"

"Yeah, but he might just be settled in where he's at—"

She poked her head out the stone door. "Who's Gordr?"

They looked up, and before the joy could quite register on their faces, she was laughing and running toward the boulder where they sat enjoying the starlight. Kíli recovered first and met her halfway, spinning her around in a laughing hug. He gave her a short kiss and let her go to greet Fíli.

"How are you, Ryn?" Fíli asked. "Was the Master horrible?"

She touched her jaw nervously as she answered, "Oh, nothing worse than you'd expect from a worm like him."

It was enough to get both their guards up. "What did he do to you?" Kíli growled.

Ryn smiled and touched his cheek. "Just tied us up and declared his intention to demand ransom for us to your Uncle. We weren't captive very long."

"Why not?"

"Legolas and Tauriel came to our aid," she said, looking happier. "Of course, the orc scout was much less of a pleasant meeting."

They exclaimed their alarm, and she told them the story—all of it, including her own questionable actions—and awaited their reactions nervously. Fíli squeezed her shoulder when she stopped. "You did well, Ryn. Uncle sent for Cousin Dain's assistance early this morning, though, so help is on the way."

"What?"

Kíli nodded. "He asked them here to help with the men and elves."

"Help?" she squeaked. "By which you mean 'pick a fight with'?!"

Fíli looked grim. "Uncle isn't…quite himself."

"I noticed."

"Will you help him, Ryn?" Kíli asked, worried. He knew the answer as well as she did.

_As if I could say no to that face, anyway._

"If I can," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his chest in an embrace intended to bring comfort. He ducked his head into the space between her neck and shoulder, and just let her hold him. Ryn heard Fíli sneak away, heard him greet Bilbo just inside, heard their footsteps fade.

And she was grateful. The emotional upheaval of the day was catching up to her—from Alfrid's words to the encounter with the orc to her worry for Thorin—and she just wanted to be with Kíli for a while. Maybe hear him say those sweet words that had carried her through the ordeal with Alfrid that morning.

"Kíli?" she asked in a small voice. He kissed her shoulder. "Ryn?"

She shivered when his stubble scraped her cheek as he raised his head. His eyes caught hers and held them. She looked away, afraid he would see something different in her than he had two nights ago. He touched her bruised jaw gently.

"What's wrong?"

_Where do I even start?_

"Just…kiss me, will you?" she whispered. He smiled, only too happy to oblige, and pressed his lips to hers.

And Ryn let go of Alfrid, the Master, the orc, and Thorin; surrendering herself entirely to Kíli's embrace for a while.

* * *

_H__û__ú__gaun—_"Cowardly dog."

_Gornil_—"Valiant one."


End file.
